Savior From The Grave - Book Four of the Nickhoales Series
by MorningStar1399
Summary: Amy knows the danger of being as...active as she is, especially with her connections to the BAU. However, Hotch is infamous for keeping secrets from her and the team. What secret is he keeping now? I suck at summaries. Book Four. Rating changed from T to M due to language and occasionally graphic content.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

**So quick, I know! I'm pretty good about this kind of stuff, I suppose. But now that I have time to myself (well, more than I had before, at least), I can update this a bit more often.**

**So...once again, this is the fourth book to my An Unyielding, Horrifying Love series, or my AUHL series. The first book is, well, An Unyielding, Horrifying Love, the second Pain of An Eighth Grade Genius, the third Wounded. I have a side story going called Red Rain, and the only things you really need for that story is the knowledge of who Amy, Domonick, Stan, and Eloïse are, and maybe Aryanna and James and Mrs. Meyes and Mr. Bronsky and Cameron...okay, you need to read the other stories AND my side story because as I write, I imply you've read the other books and therefore you should know whom my OCs are. Other than that, it's the team.**

**So I strongly suggest reading the rest of the series if you haven't already. :-D**

**Thank you for your continued support, and now allow me to get to the story!**

**Oh! Quick note: You will realize there are going to be extreme changes in dates and times and locations. Keep an eye on those. They're really important, believe it or not.**

* * *

**Friday, March 30th, 2012 9:56 AM  
Amy and Domonick's Apartment, Quantico, VA**

Amy Nickhoales smiled as Eloïse talked on about her wedding plans. She and Dr. Spencer Reid were getting married in less than two months, and the designer was intent on making herself the perfect dress to wear, as well as designing the perfect bridesmaid and maid of honor gowns. Amy had told her friend not to bother with making her a fancy dress - it wouldn't show very nicely with her in a wheelchair and all - but Eloïse insisted Amy have one of the best gowns she could design.

The wheelchair. That was Amy's biggest hinderance. Ever since she was shot one month, sixteen days, and approximately nine hours ago by her former dance instructor Stan Fields after he murdered almost everyone she knew (including staging his own abduction), she had been paralyzed, sterile, and under the fear associated with having PTSD. The gunshot wounds were healing well, which was the sole reason she had been released twenty eight days and five hours ago...precisely.

Stan Fields. Gunshot wounds. PTSD. Murder. Paralysis. Sterility.  
Pure pain. Pure trauma. Pure inspiration.

She had been singing a little, playing piano, viola, and guitar publicly, and even speaking on TV and in front of schools. She was known now by almost everyone, and those that knew her knew some detail about her story. Actually, no one knew precise details about her treatment besides Stan and herself. Well, only herself, really, considering Stan was dead. Not even the FBI agents that interviewed her asked for too much detail, taking whatever she'd tell them and what was written in her journal and leaving it at that. She knew they were doing their job when they asked her for things she wasn't all too comfortable talking about (the first time Stan raped her, the times he got mad enough for them to have singing arguments, the time he hit her, the day Reid had arrived, other times Stan had raped her, et cetera), but she was relieved when they asked her not to go into...certain details. At least they seemed to care that she was uncomfortable with these topics.

Stan. Rape. Murder. Who would have thought that Stan, the 52-year-old man who acted more like her father than just a family friend, would have turned out to be a pedophile who had an extreme unyielding, horrifying love for Amy? Who would have thought he'd turn into a murderer when his sexual desires grew too great for him to push away, murdering his own friends and students at the dance studio? None of this added up to make the man who would do anything to help anyone, who had taken her mom out on friendly dates, who had been there at Domonick's graduation, who had been almost considered an adopted member of the family? How could he turn on them and become a monster?

"In every man's heart there is a devil, but we do not know the man as bad until the devil is roused," said James Oliver Curwood. Amy had come to believe he was right. However the devil inside Stan was aroused, Amy figured she'd never know, but she knew it had to do with her somehow.

"The small man thinks that small acts of goodness are of no benefit, and does not do them; and that small deeds of evil do no harm, and does not refrain from them. Hence, his wickedness becomes so great that it cannot be concealed, and his guilt so great that it cannot be pardoned," said Confucius. She had come to agree with him as well. Something inside of Stan had clicked and told him the time for being good was over after eight years, and that now it was time to have his wish.

Stan Fields...no, he was born Stan Carter, actually. He had married a woman named Lucile, they had a daughter named Samantha. Samantha was found dead near a stream when she was thirteen, obvious signs of sexual assault, but no DNA matches to the semen found. Now the team had found their match based on Amy's own realizations.

"Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win," said Stephen King. Amy knew he was right. This time around, Stan lost to his internal monster. It was the only explanation for his actions.

This led Amy to wonder: If Stan had not died, if he had been sent to prison for his crimes and given life without parole, would he have been able to shove the monster back inside, lock it away, and return to normal? Amy missed the old Stan terribly. The monster he had become was too much unlike Stan to say it was really him.

But it was him. The pedophile-murderer-rapist being he had become was him all along. If Amy thought hard enough (which she had done one time too many), the Stan he had become back in the house in the woods was still him. He acted the same way, just...different. Younger. Almost less-human. Amy noticed after "love sessions" he always seemed younger, and she always felt older, as if he gave her his age and he took her youth away. It was a strange concept.

"Amy? You there? Hello?" Eloïse asked, waving her hand in front of the young teen's face.

Amy blinked. "Yeah? Sorry. I was just...thinking."

Eloïse sighed. "I take it you didn't hear a word I just said, huh?"

Amy pursed her lips. "Were you talking about table settings?"

Eloïse sighed again, and continued talking, Amy managing to keep up and engaged.

* * *

**Friday, March 30th, 2012 10:24 AM  
Somewhere in Virginia, United States**

The older man sighed, sipping the too-strong coffee his nephew had made him. Hidden in his left hand was the silver locket he had been falling asleep holding ever since he had seen Amy on Dr. Phil. There had been no other shows or performances with Amy, but the older man kept himself in high hopes of seeing her again soon.

"Uncle, are you alright?" the young man asked, setting down his newspaper.

The older man nodded slowly. "When is your father joining us?"

At the change of subject, the young man picked the newspaper back up. "Uh, Mother and Father are supposed to be arriving in two weeks."

The older man raised his eyebrows. "Your mother is coming too?"

"If you don't mind, yes. She can help you get better, considering she's a nurse."

The older man nodded slowly, sipping the coffee again, almost spitting out the bitter liquid. "Whyever we drink this vile beverage I shall never know. I'm going to put on some tea. Would you like some?"

The young man shook his head, slightly deflated at his uncle's honesty. "No thanks, Uncle. I'm good with coffee."

The older man grunted, muttering about his nephew's lack of taste buds for the deserving beverage as he shuffled over to the stove and putting the tea kettle on a burner. This would be another quiet day of polite disagreement, just like the past forty-five days had been.


	2. One

**Tuesday, April 10th, 2012  
Backstage of the Edmund Town Hall theater, Newtown, CT**

Amy tensed and relaxed her shoulders unnecessarily, fighting off the pre-show nerves. Today only Dom, Reid, and Eloïse could make it considering the rest of the team was...out on a case in Seattle. Reid would join them in the morning, and, if Amy had her way, she'd be with him. Today, she was back in Connecticut for the first time in nearly four months. No wonder she was nervous.

Eloïse found her backstage and handed her the microphone. "Hey, you'll do great. You always do," she said, putting her hand on Amy's back, causing Amy to flinch away then sigh.

"I know. It's just...this is Connecticut. It's going to be hard," Amy whispered, her bottom lip trembling.

Eloïse knelt in front of her. "Amy, listen: I don't want you to cry right now. Yes, that's partially because I really don't feel like reapplying your make-up, but it's partially because I know you can do this. You've never let nerves or anything stop you from getting onstage and rocking it."

Amy sighed, collapsing back in her wheelchair. "I just hope you're right, Eloïse."

Eloïse threw her head back in laughter, her brown curls bouncing and shaking. "Oh believe me, Amy. I am _always_ right."

Amy smiled. "Thanks, Eloïse. How much time left to curtain?"

Eloïse checked her watch. "Negative fifteen seconds."

Amy looked at her in confusion, then her eyes widened in realization. "Oh. Thanks. You might want to find the host, then."

Eloïse started to walk away, then came back saying, "What am I doing? I am the host!"

Amy laughed and clapped from backstage as Eloïse took the stage, a spotlight finding and following her.

"Welcome all!" Eloïse exclaimed cheerfully into the microphone she removed from the stand. As the crowd died down, Eloïse smiled and said, "Thank you very much. Welcome once again. I am Eloïse Mary-Ellen Tailor, soon to be Reid, and I really don't know how to introduce the wonderful young lady who is about to perform for all of us. She's talented, she's smart, she's funny, and she's strong. Without further ado - or a note - allow me to welcome Connecticut's own Amy Nickhoales."

The crowd went wild as Eloïse put the microphone back on the stand and quickly raced over to Amy to wheel her onstage. Amy smiled and waved at the crowd as Eloïse helped her move from wheelchair to piano, where Amy would be singing and playing. Eloïse left the stage immediately after.

"Thank you all so very much!" Amy exclaimed with a huge smile, taking the microphone from her lap and holding it up to her mouth. "I want to thank Eloïse for that flattering introduction. I'd like to get to the show as quickly as possible so you all can get home eventually." The crowd laughed, but Amy set the microphone in the holder on the piano and said, "So, with a simple note" - she hit middle C with her pointer finger with a flair and flick of her wrist - "allow me to begin the world premier of 'Feeling Something,' also known as 'What You Started.'"

She let the applause die out some before beginning the piano intro. As soon as the camera filming the event spun around her somewhat, her voice broke the solemn rest.

"I remember what you said that night,

You had me so scared.

I didn't know what I had comin'

Thought you couldn't have cared.

At least not that way.

At least not that day.

"You had me so worked up

I was losing my mind.

You smiled at me so much

And told me 'You are mine.'

Please don't kiss me.

Please don't piss me

Off...

"I thought you couldn't be

Feeling something.

Thought I had you figured out.

You thought that I might be

Feeling something

Too.

Just maybe I was

Feeling something

Any kind of something.

But it wasn't love for you

It wasn't hate for you

But I was feeling something.

"Perhaps you had every right

And reason to love me.

And maybe I just didn't want to face

The fact that this was meant to be!

Keeping all of my doubts

And fears locked up inside.

It took all of my strength

To give up and not hide!

"I thought you couldn't be

Feeling something.

Thought I had you figured out.

You thought that I might be

Feeling something

Too.

Just maybe I was

Feeling something

Any kind of something.

But it wasn't love for you

It wasn't hate for you

But I was feeling something.

"Something...

I was

Feeling something.

It wasn't good

It wasn't right

But it wasn't enough to face the light

It wasn't enough to face the fight

Wasn't enough to face the night.

You were

Feeling something.

It wasn't bad

It wasn't wrong

But it wasn't enough to make me move on

It wasn't enough to make me lose one

Wasn't enough to make me bruise..."

Amy took the piano interlude seriously, trying so hard to keep her voice from cracking as emotion built up in her throat before she continued.

"Yeah, I wasn't

Feeling that something

Just to put it out there

You were definitely

Feeling that something

And that something was just wrong love

Love that makes it 'right'

It just defied the night.

"Yeah, I was feeling something

But it wasn't love for you

It wasn't hate for you

But I wasn't gonna wait for you...

"To finish

What

You'd..."

Amy let the dramatic rest hang for a few seconds longer before sustaining the inhumanly high note that followed:

"Start-ed

Eh-eh-eh-eheheheh-eh-eh-ehd.

Couldn't let you finish what you started."

As the piano solo ended with a minor chord, the audience remained silent for a full thirty seconds before the first person started clapping, followed by another, then another, then the entire room filled with applause. Amy turned to the audience to smile and bow her head.

"Thank you. That was...really tough to get out of my system, but I'm glad I did," Amy said, pausing for the audience's nervous laughter. Amy chuckled to herself. "The next song..."

* * *

**Tuesday, April 10th, 2012  
Unknown, Virginia, United States**

The older man laid in bed, unable to sleep despite the silver locket clutched in his hand and the old photos slipped under his pillow. He rolled over onto his left side and stared at his bureau, his eyes glancing to the bottle of gin on his bedside table next to his perscriptions. All he had to do was swallow a whole bunch of those and wash it all down with that gin... No, that wasn't the answer. He was simply tormenting himself by watching the show on TV again. He knew Amy had been singing about him for most of the show. _Let her think I am dead. No, she deserves to know the truth. The truth will kill her. I plan on succeeding this time._


	3. Two

**Author's Note:**

**Um...sorry it's so late. I would probably have updated this two Fridays ago, but it was my birthday, so I kinda didn't...I FaceTimed a friend in California instead...then I ate cake, opened presents, and went to bed around one in the morning...doing what, I don't really remember...but it wasn't FanFiction, unfortunately...so yeah...and then I went to bed surprisingly early all this weekend...**

**I also have really bad writer's block right now. Unfortunately, that means I want to write when I can't think of anything to write about. It's strange: When I have writer's block, all I want to do is write; whereas when I ****_don't_**** have writer's block, I don't want to write at all. It's so weird.**

**Anyways, I'm going to see if my usual trick to breaking writer's block works today. To the chapter!**

* * *

**Friday, April 13th 2012 6:49 PM  
Amy and Domonick's Apartment, Quantico, VA**

Amy sighed as she, Reid, Domonick, and Eloïse made their way over to the sibling's apartment after visiting Reid's half-sister Aryanna for an hour. Eloïse was pushing Amy through the hall, Dom not far behind on his crutches, Reid in front. Something about the agent made Amy a little skeptical.

"Okay, what's going on?" Amy asked as Reid stopped in front of the apartment door, his hand on the doorknob his hand raised to knock.

Reid struggled to remain composed. "What...uh, what do you mean?"

Amy crossed her arms. "You aren't throwing a surprise party for me, are you?"

Reid stomped the ground. "And we almost slipped past you!"

Amy laughed as Reid opened the door, holding it open for Amy and Eloïse, and then for Domonick before letting himself in and closing the door behind him.

The team, Mrs. Meyes, Mr. Bronsky, Cameron Bronsky, and Danielle all exchanged confused glances. "Wasn't this supposed to be a surprise?"

Reid sighed.

"Wasn't it?"

Reid sighed again, then exclaimed, "She literally just figured it out!"

Everyone - even Hotch - burst into laughter.

"Happy birthday, Amy!" everyone cheered, causing the paralyzed child to blush severely.

Dom smiled as Danielle made her way over to him, helping him over to the armchair. Once seated, he patted the arm, upon which she sat and allowed him to wrap his arm around her waist. They were such a beautiful new couple.

Cameron walked over to Amy with his father and Mrs. Meyes, wrapping her in a hug that picked her up out of her wheelchair before he set her back down again. "Happy birthday."

Amy's face heated up even more as she blushed deeper. "Thank you, Cameron."

Mrs. Meyes smiled at the two, then squeezed past Cameron and hugged Amy much more gently. "Happy birthday, sweetheart."

"Thank you, Mrs. Meyes."

Once Mrs. Meyes let her go, Mr. Bronsky handed Amy a small card and wrapped box. "Happy birthday, Amy."

Amy smiled, her blush fading slowly. "Thank you, Mr. Bronsky."

Her old guitar and orchestra teacher smiled at her and nodded.

Soon the team was surrounding her and wishing her a happy birthday and giving her gifts, which eventually were opened once she had been seated on the couch near Dom and Danielle. From Mr. Bronsky she had received a new viola rosin, plenty of expensive guitar picks, and a new book of sheet music "because you're running out of new stuff to play." From Mrs. Meyes she received several new books and a beautiful notebook and caligraphy set - "You know me too well!" - and from Cameron she received a beautiful silver, diamond, and ruby pendant as well as a beautiful handmade card. Hotch gave her a chemistry set which made Amy squeal then laugh at the insanely high sound), Rossi gave her a hand-carved wooden keepsake box ("I did not carve that, but I watched the guy do it," he claimed), JJ gave her a cute red leather jacket ("Oh, JJ, you know me too well"), Prentiss gave her a new project ("A bag made from these old jeans and whatever else I want? Alright, sounds like a plan! I love giving gifts instead of receiving - it gives me something to do!"), Morgan gave her a collectable Minnie Mouse watch ("I've always had a thing for Minnie and Mickey"), and Garcia gave her $50 gift cards for iTunes, JCPenny, Target, Michael's, and the local music store. Reid finally handed her his gift: a chess set, "In memory of a good time in darkness."

"Thank you all so much," Amy said with tears in her eyes.

Danielle exclaimed, "I haven't even given you mine yet!"

Morgan quickly ran to the front door to let in Aryanna and James Meyes. "Nor have we given you ours!" Aryanna added with equal enthusiasm before hugging Amy, laying a bouquet of flowers in her lap.

Dom smiled as James walked over to him. "Hey James. Glad you could join us."

James nodded in his direction. "So am I. Hey Danielle."

Danielle blushed slightly as James gave her a hug. "Hey James."

Aryanna went around giving everyone hugs, and James struck up a small conversation with his mother and Morgan (they were second cousins by marriage).

Eventually, everyone settled down again, and Dom said to Danielle, "Can you get Amy's present from me from my room? I don't think standing will be a good idea."

Danielle smiled and stood. "Of course. Where is it?"

"It should be under my bed on the right side closer to the nightstand," he said, and Danielle gave a thumb's up as she squeezed past everyone and over to his room.

Dom smiled as he watched her open the door and enter the room, chuckling as she made a comment no doubt on the messy state of it.

Amy noticed this and smiled. It was good to see him in love again. He and Rachel had something special, and this was very close to their beginning.

Aryanna commanded her attention as she sat next to her and placed a large box in her lap. "Open," she ordered with a playful smile.

"Yes ma'am!" Amy joked, laughing as she ripped open the paper and lifted the lid of the box. Her eyes flew wide. "You're kidding me."

Aryanna's smile did not waver. "Nope. It's yours."

Amy squealed. "OH MY GOSH! THANK YOU SO MUCH!" She held up the beautiful shawl Aryanna herself had made that Amy had fallen in love with when she first saw Aryanna wearing it when they first met back when Amy was still in the hospital recovering from the gunshot wounds Stan... Amy stopped thinking about it and looked back into the box as she wrapped the shawl around her suddenly freezing shoulders. There was another, smaller box inside.

Aryanna noticed this, and smiled as Amy removed the lid and gasped. "That's real silver and sapphire," she explained as James slid next to her, wrapping his arm around her waist and kissing her head lightly. "They were my grandmother's wedding hair pins, then my mother's, then mine twice, and hopefully they can be yours now."

Tears formed in Amy's eyes. The hair pins were truly beautiful. "Thank you so much, Aryanna." She threw her arms around her neck in a tearful hug.

Aryanna's own eyes were wet with tears. "You are very welcome, Amy."

Danielle came out of Dom's room with two boxes. "Dom, once this is over, you and I need to talk."

Dom cocked his head to the left. "We do?"

Danielle nodded. "We do."

Dom suddenly looked like he'd been caught. "Ah. I see. I guess we do."

Danielle smiled, and handed Amy the two boxes. "Here. The smaller one's from me, the bigger one your brother."

Amy pushed aside that small conversation the two had and opened Danielle's first. It was a beautiful leather journal and a sleek fountain pen with extra ink. The note transcribed on the inside was in the reporter's flowing cursive: _Hope this helps my budding reporter!_ followed by her graceful signature. "Wow," Amy commented, eyes wide. "This is truly beautiful, Danielle. Thank you so much."

Danielle smiled, sitting on the arm of Dom's chair again at his insistence. "You are very welcome, Amy. My co-worker has a friend who makes them, and my co-worker likes to give them away so I have quite the collection of leather journals now and have absolutely no need for them because I use legal pads, not journals."

"Well, I like this a lot. Thank you," Amy said with a smile.

Danielle smiled back. "You're welcome."

Amy set the journal and pen back in the box to open Domonick's gift. Upon peeling back the wrapping paper, Amy closed her eyes and smiled. This was exactly what she wanted. "I'm surprised Spencer didn't get this for me, but a magic set? Wow. I am officially speechless."

"That's a good thing, right?" Dom asked.

Amy nodded, holding the box to her chest. "Yes, that is a good thing. Thank you. Thank you so much. I've been meaning to mention it, but never have. Thank you. I'd get up and hug you, but I kinda can't, and neither can you."

Dom frowned. "Not without both legs cramping out on me."

Reid winced. "I know the feeling."

Amy laughed quite suddenly, and said, "Air hug!"

Dom joined her laughter and reached his arms out as she did, wrapping them around an invisible being.

Soon everyone was laughing and having a good time. Mrs. Meyes disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a beautiful cake with fifteen lit candles. Everyone sang "Happy Birthday," Amy blew out the candles, and the decadent homemade red velvet cake was cut and served, the first piece going to Amy.

"Finally fourteen!" Amy declared once she took the first bite of her cake.

Everyone cheered, and the cake was quickly devoured. The night lasted late and ran solely on high notes. However, it always felt like someone was missing...

* * *

**Friday, April 13th, 2012 10:27 PM  
Outside Amy and Domonick's Apartment, Quantico, VA**

The older man sighed, wrapping his arms around himself due to the early spring chill. He'd been watching the apartment lights for nearly four hours, always feeling like he was really inside that tiny place next to Amy or with her friends and family. He had to remind himself none of her family would be there; none had survived. He sighed as he sat on the sidewalk, a lit but unused cigarette burning in his hand. Looking at the smoldering cancer stick with misery and disgust, he dropped it and stomped on the embers, humiliated he had to resort to such a deadly explanation for being out on the street so late at night since his real reason would raise suspicion.

The lights and shadows and laughter soon came to a slow demise, and fifteen minutes later people began to stream out of the front door of the apartments. The team on Amy's case minus the one held hostage was the first to exit, then the three other hostages, then an unknown couple that looked oddly familiar. A young woman followed them and bid them all goodnight from the door, but then the window the older man had been watching opened and a face he did not expect to see popped out along with a faint outline of Amy's.

"G'night!" the man called, waving, trying not to fall over his crutches... _His crutches?_

He moved and Amy's sweet face appeared. "Good night!" she sang, also waving.

The older man's heart fluttered at the sight of her and the sound of her voice. It was almost as if seeing her edited face on television had led him to forget her true and pure beauty. He salivated at the sight of her beautifully rounded angular face, the slightly pointed nose with the slight bulge at the tip, her dancing brown eyes, her long, wavy, brown hair, and most importantly, her beautiful, effortless smile. What he didn't appreciate were the dark circles around those dancing brown eyes that seemed to express much too much, nor that faint scar on her cheek (which he couldn't see but knew was there) or the bulky wheelchair (which he also couldn't see but knew was there). He caught a faint glimpse of a small curl of fabric at her chin, _A turtleneck? In spring? Oh what have I done?_ the older man thought.

Yes, it was his fault he noticed these tiny faults in her. He had caused these faults, and he was paying for them. But, as he watched the team get into their vehicles and drive away, he realized he wanted to fix that. It wasn't all his fault; he wasn't the only one that fired.

The older man sighed and walked to the far corner, taking out the seldom-used cell phone to call a cab. Once the cab arrived he got in and directed it to his house, not really thinking about the world around him. He was simply lost in the plan he was starting to form.

As he paid the cabbie, his nephew came out of the house and helped him inside. The older man noticed the TV was on but the living room light wasn't; rather, the kitchen light was on and coffee had been brewed.

"Should I get some water boiling for some sleepy time tea?" his nephew asked.

The older man shook his head, walking slowly over to the cupboard and taking out a mug. "No, I'm going to have some coffee instead. I have a lot to think about tonight."

His nephew looked at him in confusion, but shrugged it off and said, "Alright. I'm going to finish this show, then I'm off to bed."

"Fine with me," the older man replied, pouring himself some coffee.

His nephew stopped walking and turned around quite suddenly, as if realizing something. "You...you're not drunk."

The older man set down his coffee cup and straightened his neck. "Does this surprise you?"

The younger man shrugged. "I mean, whenever you come home late via cab you're pretty intoxicated. Tonight you aren't. Are you alright?"

His uncle chuckled. "You should be more worried about me when I am drunk, not when I'm not. Go finish your show. I'll be fine."

His nephew narrowed his eyes but went back into the living room and sat to finish watching his show, _Doctor Who_.

The older man smiled. His nephew worried too much, much like himself. He sighed, opening the liquor cabinet and pouring in a cap-full each of gin and brandy into his coffee before stirring it and drinking it, allowing the alcohol to relieve his cramping muscles. He sighed again as he put away the bottles and took his mug up to his room, upset he let the drug control him physically. After turning on the light and closing the door, he shuffled over to his desk and set the mug down after a small, scalding sip. Taking his special box with him back over to his desk, he pulled out the photo album, skipping ahead to his more recent years. He watched that child age and mature, growing into a truly beautiful young woman. Given years, she would blossom into a true crown jewel if she would only display her beauty more. The black, modest mourning clothes she wore were too much. Turtlenecks, boots, and long pants - all in black - were simply too much for spring and summer.

_Amy_, his mind whispered longingly. He hadn't dared speak her name to himself for fear of breaking down and revealing himself to his nephew. Instead he let himself get that...rousing feeling as he looked at her pictures before closing the album and focusing on his plan.

It was a truly dangerous plan. If it didn't go perfectly right, someone could find out and he would be in big trouble. Taking out a blue spiral notebook and pencil from his desk drawers, the older man began to draft ideas, making quick sketches and writing shopping lists. He knew it could be a while before he could carry it out, but the wait would be worth it. Amy would know the truth, and he would be happy. Their suffering would finally come to an end. And the older man knew that no matter what he did, the BAU team would do everything they could to stop him. But that was all part of the plan.

Before finally calling it a night, he unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk, and slipped the notebook inside, taking out a rather large locked black case. He carefully unlocked it and lifted the lid, smiling at the M9 9mm semiautomatic pistol and ammunition inside it. He carefully closed and locked the case after making sure the chamber was empty, slipping the case back inside the drawer under the notebook and locking the drawer once everything was settled. Taking the keys, he placed them in the box with the photo album, locking that box and putting it on his bedside table.

Taking out the locket from his back pocket, he set it on his nightstand as he changed into pajamas, taking it back in his hand as he slipped into bed.

As soon as he turned out the lights, he sighed, closing his eyes and smiling as sirens rang out through the otherwise still night. In nine months, not even those sirens could deter him from his plan. And he knew, as he fell asleep, nothing ever could.


	4. Three

**Author's Note:**

**Yay! No more writer's block! Unfortunately, it means I'm not going to want to write soon, so I'm going to take advantage of this time now and write the next chapter!**

* * *

**Saturday, November 17th, 2012 2:53 PM  
Starbucks, Quantico, VA**

Amy sat in her wheelchair, staring out the window a few feet away from her while Dom and Reid got drinks and food. Tears formed in her eyes as she thought of what had happened almost nine months before, and everything that had led up to that moment. She was so lost in thought that she almost didn't notice the man sitting at the table next to her.

"I didn't expect to see you here," the oh-too-familiar British voice said behind her.

Amy's eyes widened as she slowly turned to face the man she thought she'd never see again, quickly turning back to the window as soon as they locked eyes. "Me either."

He leaned in closer, his breath almost against her skin. "Amy, I am so sorry about what has happened to you. I never expected we'd _both _make it out alive, and even if you did I never thought _this_ would happen to you! But if those agents had been more careful with where they aimed..."

"What are you saying?" Amy asked, her voice cracking as a few tears dripped from her eyes. She dared not face him.

He leaned in even closer, his lips almost touching her ear, the faint taste of liquor on his breath. "I am not the one who paralyzed you, my dear."

She couldn't help it: Amy's head spun to face him. "But-"

"All they told you were lies. I wouldn't be here telling you this if they were telling the truth."

Just then Reid and Domonick walked over smiling and laughing, Reid carrying a tray with drinks and food, Dom holding and leaning on the cane that had replaced his crutches not two weeks before. Both men stopped as soon as they saw him, eyes widening.

"You're supposed to be dead!" Dom exclaimed, Stan pulling away from Amy slowly, cautiously.

"I can say the same for you, _boy_. As should be your sister, but she's not. You're not. I'm not," he replied, his British accent sounding oddly forced, as if he _wanted _to revert back to an American accent.

Reid was still shocked. "But Hotch said-"

"What _else _has _Aaron Hotchner_ said about me? About Amy? About Amy's _condition_?" he asked. "You know very well I am not the one who shot her in such a way. You know better than I do, Dr. Reid. As does Agent Hotchner."

Domonick sat. "What do you mean by bringing Hotch into this...situation, Stan?"

Stan smiled manically, turning his head slowly to face Amy again. "All I'm trying to say is that you cannot blame me for everything, Amy."

Amy's eyes widened in fear as Reid set down the tray and sat. "I'm not so sure I _want_ to understand."

Stan leaned in uncomfortably close. "Who was it that first told you they were saving up for the surgery to fix your paralysis?"

Amy's eyes widened further as she realized what he meant.

Stan continued. "Why else would he have done that without guilt for being one of the many reasons behind it?"

Amy began to hyperventilate. "You don't mean..._Hotch _paralyzed me?"

Stan smiled. "That is _exactly_ what I mean."

Reid quickly gathered in all the possibilities and suddenly became more of an agent than a possible hostage. "What do you want with us, Stan?"

Stan turned his head to lock eyes with the agent. "Why don't the three of you join me for tea in my new place? We have quite a bit of...catching up to do."

"I don't think we'll be taking you up on that offer, Stan," Domonick retorted.

Reid's eyes made contact with Stan's right hip, where a bulge made him say, "I think we may have to take him up on the offer, Dom. I just hope Eloïse doesn't mind our being late to dinner."

Amy caught on to what Reid was getting at, and, her eyes never leaving Stan's hip, said, "Yes, definitely. At least to save the lives of everyone in the shop."

Stan smiled. "Very good. Now, it you'll all follow me, we'll take your car, Dr. Reid."

Soon the four had left the Starbucks and were driving out and into a deserted industrial section of the city. Stan drove Reid's seldom-used car into one of the old buildings, parking next to a pillar in the center of the basement. Then he took away everyone's cell phones and Amy's iPods, locking them in the glove compartment. Next he popped a few prescription pills into his mouth swallowing them down with water he pulled from a pocket inside his coat. Then, reaching into Reid's coat, he pulled out a set of handcuffs, locking one around Reid's left wrist and the other around Domonick's right once he had the two out of the car at gunpoint. Stan went back in the car for Amy, whom he carried out in his arms before ordering the other two to follow him.

The four, with much difficulty for Domonick, made their way upstairs onto a floor that had once been filled with cubicles. Now, the walls of the cubicles formed a maze leading to one office with a desk for an awkward bed, chairs, and more cubicle walls obviously in the process of being assigned to a spot in the maze. The window had been covered, and Amy sighed at the lack of a view outside again. She hadn't made sure to have a room with a view for nothing.

Once Stan was sure they were all in the room, he laid Amy down on the makeshift bed-desk and set to work making sure Domonick and Reid weren't going anywhere. After tying the two men together, he started to finish the strategic layout design for the cubicle dividers in the office that would eventually be placed in the maze. A few hours later, it seemed to be complete and he was hesitant to go back into the maze and set them up. However, after looking back at his hostages, he sighed and dragged one wall at a time out into the maze and disappeared, obviously completing the construction. Reid and Dom tried to find a weakness in the rope around their wrists and chests, but realized Stan had been smart and made sure the ends were tied just below their sternums. With a sigh, the two gave up, knowing there would be no escaping this time.

When Stan returned a few hours after he left to begin with, it was obvious the now-53-year-old man was exhausted. He stretched, yawning, then slumped against the wall next to Amy's head, sinking to the floor.

"That's done. I'll test it tomorrow. By then, they should be on my trail, so I'll have to finish the next part of my plans as soon as possible..." Stan said to himself. "If any of you get any ideas, please, do share them with me so I can blow your head off. In other words, I do _not_ want to hear a single sound from any of you. Do not get it in your mind that I will hesitate to shoot because you will be the first I destroy." With that, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Silent tears streamed from Amy's eyes. This couldn't be happening, could it? This was almost scarier than her PTSD hallucinations. Now _those_ were terrifying, mostly because she no longer felt anything from her waist down, meaning she couldn't tell if he was inside her or not. Just as she had expected, like clockwork, one of these hallucinations occurred. She squeezed her eyes shut in fear, tears streaming from her eyes despite her biting of her lips. Her back arched as the bullets re-entered her body even though Stan was on top of her again. She tried so hard not to scream...

_"There is something_

_I see in you._

_It might kill me_

_I want it to be true."_

_"How long must I wait for my love?_

_'Cause I need you,_

_Oh I need you..."_

_"Time is dead and gone_

_Show must go on_

_It's time for our act..."_

_"I can't survive_

_Without your sweet love_

_Oh baby, don't leave me this way..."_

_"But I feel like I've never known love_

_I feel like I've never known love_

_I feel like I've never known lo-ove..."_

_"Amy, it's just a song!"_

_"You _left_ me no choice!"_

_"Don't even start, young lady..."_

_"I gave it all to you_

_Let it go one night_

_Reaching as I fall..."_

**_"I KNOW IT'S ALREADY OVER!"_**

_"Already over!"_

* * *

"_SHUT _UP _AMY_!" Stan shouted, his gun pointed at her face.

The young teen opened her eyes, breathing heavily. She knew she'd been screaming for the memories and pain to stop. The taste of blood in her mouth and the throbbing of her bottom lip told her she'd bitten too hard and even then it didn't do her any good. Fresh tears streamed from her eyes as she came to face her terrible mistakes.

She nodded twice, wincing in pain. The hallucination had seemed so real this time. Was it because Stan was really there? She doubted it, but it was a possibility.

Stan's eyes narrowed, but he lowered his gun. "Next time I shoot." As it to prove it, he opened the chamber and inserted new rounds.

Reid suddenly asked, "Is that the same gun?"

Stan rolled his eyes then turned to face the agent, pointing the gun at him. "What do you mean, same gun?"

Reid shrugged, a difficult thing to do without moving Domonick's shoulders too, so it appeared that the two men were shrugging in unison. If their situation was less tense, Amy would have burst out into laughter. Instead she breathed heavily as the sweat dripped from her forehead. _Had I been thrashing, too? No wonder he was ready to shoot me!_ she thought.

"Well?" Stan demanded, waving his gun.

"I'm just curious. I mean, if it was the same gun - which I know it is - you'll be arrested for more than kidnapping and murder and probably attempted murder, but theft as well," Reid said.

Amy squeezed her eyes shut, trying hard not to face-palm herself. _Spencer, please don't do anything stupid that will get you killed!_

Stan rolled his eyes. "And? You'll be lucky if you survive my plans." With that, he sat back down in the same spot he had before and fell back asleep.

Amy's body shuddered with each exhale as her forehead dripped. She slowly wiped her forehead with her sleeve, wiping her eyes with her other sleeve. Why was this all so terrifying? What time was it even? It had to be night, but why would she be hallucinating so? Had she fallen asleep instead?

"Amy?" Reid whispered.

Amy opened her eyes.

"You okay?" Reid whispered.

Amy nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just..." She sighed. "I still don't understand the reasoning behind why it was so strong this time. I mean, was it this time when I was..."

"The first time, or when you were shot?" Reid whispered.

"Or both?" Amy asked.

Reid cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

"It was really late when we were on our way to the house when we got into an argument. He pulled over so he wouldn't crash, and then continued arguing with me. Finally I shouted for him to prove to me he loved me, and he did. Worst mistake I've ever made."

Reid was silent for a while. Finally, he whispered, "Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

"There wasn't a reason to."

"It's still part of the case," Reid whispered.

Stan stirred, and the two geniuses held their breath. He simply moved his head back against the wall, then continued sleeping as normal.

Amy sighed. "No one ever asked me to recount any details about my...experience. They only asked you."

"Because we didn't know how much it would hurt you, or if it would make anything worse by recounting everything that happened." Reid sighed, trying to turn to face her without waking Dom (who had fallen asleep almost as quickly as Stan had). "Amy, we care about you too much for us to ever want to hurt you. Sure, some things are law and they can't be ignored, but we weren't going to ask you to tell us anything you weren't ready to tell."

Amy sighed, looking at Reid's brown eyes. He wouldn't lie to her, and even if he did she'd see right through it. But why did she still have a hard time believing him?

"I understand you probably don't believe me, but that's because of what Stan's been saying about us. It may have been one of Hotch's bullets that landed in your spine the way it did, but it doesn't mean he did it on purpose. He cares about you, too. All he's ever wanted is your happiness, but he's a bit...eh, not-so-good around kids besides his own, especially girls. He's also more likely to do what he needs to do rather than what he wants to do. That's one of the reasons he's such a good agent. Morgan...well, he's Morgan. What else is there to say about him? It takes a while to earn his trust, which is understandable, but somehow you quickly earned his. I personally believe he sees you as trustworthy not just because you are but because Hotch seems to care more about you than he lets on. In that way, you should really know how much Morgan sees in you, how much we all see in you."

Amy cocked her head. "Okay, you lost me there."

Reid sighed. "Forget it. I'd rather not get you killed." With that, he turned back to the way he had been positioned originally, and stared at his knees.

Amy sighed, turning her head back to face the ceiling. She knew Reid had tried to explain how much she meant to the team, but his wording was weird and she didn't see how they could already care so much after only just meeting her eleven months and thirteen days before.

"You are wrong about one thing, though, Spencer," Amy whispered.

"Which is?"

"The gun Stan has now? It's not the same one that you remember. He has two. I've seen both."

Reid's eyes widened. "Really?"

Amy nodded. "Why? Probably as a back-up plan in case something went sour. The other - his revolver - was taken from the house as evidence, so he's using his pistol instead."

There was a silence between the two of them for a few minutes before Reid asked, "Amy, if you're comfortable talking about it, what happened...what happened _before _I was abducted?"

Amy closed her eyes. "A lot of things. For one thing, you missed most of Stan's anger and most of his love. The night I stood up for you was the last night he raped me. That's why Mrs. Meyes may have commented on how long dances had become, and that's why you witnessed…more. It was to make up for the time lost in the schedule from 'love sessions' and to satisfy his sexual desires for me.

"But you missed more. The night I stood up for you was the second time I'd stood up. The first time I was furious, shouting at Stan for beating Mr. Bronsky. I told him that if anyone were to be harmed again I'd...I'd hurt myself or even take more drastic measures and kill myself."

Reid's eyes widened. "You _what_?"

Amy nodded. "I did. That got him to stop pretty quick. He started leaving his gun - whichever he had on him at the time - at the top of the stairs outside the door 'just in case I got any ideas.' He really believed I'd do it, that I'd kill myself just to prove to him he needed to stop.

"For a while, he would lock my bedroom door when it wasn't a section of the schedule to prohibit escape, but then he stopped doing that, leaving all doors that had windows locked instead, minus that one I used to escape and tell time.

"The day he left to get you, he was gone. He told me he wouldn't be there for the entire day, and that I wasn't to worry about him. He said he wanted to rearrange the schedule some for just that day - we should have been about to play music - and that he wanted that day's 'love session' to be right then and there. I was pretty scared, I'll admit, because it wasn't in the shockingly warm comfort of his room but in the freeze of mine. We both froze up pretty quick, so he continued it while we were on our way to his room just to warm up. It was longer than usual, I remember, as if he was taking his sweet time. When he did stop, he openly contemplated leaving me right where I was and tying me there just so I wouldn't 'get any ideas' and for his own benefit when he returned. He ended up doing so, only to have someone come a few hours later and let me loose, making sure I was in my room before leaving again. I was so scared, not for Stan's safety - his safety really didn't matter because I was also furious at him for what he had done to me - but for what he could be doing. I was right to be scared."

Amy stopped speaking for a moment, then asked, "If you don't mind me asking now, how did he manage to get you?"

Reid sighed. "Mind manipulation."

Amy raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure it was more than that."

Reid shrugged slightly. "It's a really long story."

"It's better to tell it now when we have time rather than later, _if _there's a 'later,'" Amy pointed out.

Reid sighed. "Alright, I'll tell you now..."

* * *

**5/6/2013- Just noticed a few errors, so I corrected them. Sorry about any inconsistencies - unlike Amy and Reid, _I_ don't have an eidetic memory, so I rely on my notes and rereading previous chapters, even if that means hunting through the other three books... Oh, and did I move too quickly into this intense part? I hope not, because Stan's about to be really, really evil. If you hated him before...you're _not_ going to love him now.**


	5. Four

**Saturday, November 17th, 2012, 11:27 PM  
Hotch's Home, Quantico, VA**

Hotch woke slowly to the sound of pounding on the front door. He sat up, rubbing his eyes as he struggled to make out where he was. Squinting, he realized he'd fallen asleep on the couch in the living room while watching TV earlier that evening. He sighed, stretching as the pounding grew more frantic. Punching the power button on the remote, Hotch stood and walked over to the door, unlocking the deadbolt before opening the door to see a panicked Eloïse.

Hotch was shocked to see Reid's wife - they'd been married in June - at his door, especially in the grey designer pantsuit she wore with grey ribbon heels and her usual black leather chealsey handbag. Her usually tame ringlet curls were a slight mess, as if she'd been pulling at them in anxiety. Her mascara and eyeliner was smeared by... Hotch knew something was wrong as soon as he realized she'd been crying.

"Eloïse? What's the matter? Is something wrong?" Hotch asked, gesturing for her to come inside, flipping on the light as she entered.

"Aaron," she started, her bottom lip quivering. "I don't know what happened, but Spencer's missing."

Hotch's eyes flew open wide. He was fully awake now. "Spencer's what?!"

Eloïse nodded tearfully, sitting on the couch as directed by Hotch. "My flight home from my Seattle branch was delayed, and I'd called Spencer to let him know, but he didn't answer. I figured he must not have had his phone with him or it was on silent while you were working on a case or something, so I left a message letting him know I would be late coming home and asking him to call me as soon as he could. I even called the apartment phone to see if he was home, and even then no answer. I called Domonick and Amy's apartment, but not even they answered, and Amy's almost always home. I called Domonick, but he didn't answer. I got pretty nervous - Dom's paranoid about answering his phone - so I called Danielle to see if they were together. She answered, thank God, but she didn't know where Domonick was, and they were supposed to be having dinner that night with us while Aryanna took Amy for the night so she could be with Savannah again. I called Aryanna next, and we got sidetracked but I knew she didn't know where her brother was nor where Amy and Domonick were. I had to hang up because my flight was finally coming in, and I texted Spencer to let him know I was finally boarding and that I should be home by tonight. My flight got in around ten, and I called Spencer to see if he could come pick me up, but not only had he not responded to my text, but he still wasn't answering, nor was Domonick when I tried him. I finally got a hold of Danielle, who was panicking because she hadn't heard from Domonick nor Amy all day nor were they home when she went to check up on them using her key. I had her come with me to Spencer's and my apartment, but he wasn't even home. I looked around for a note of some sort, and I finally found a note on the coffee table saying he would be back around four or five this afternoon because he was going out for coffee with Dom and Amy. That didn't add up whatsoever, so I looked around for another note or something, and then I see it."

"What?" Hotch asked, worried with her.

Eloïse broke into tears. "The bedroom safe had been blast open and his badge and gun were gone, but that was it. No blood, no money missing, none of my jewelry was taking, nothing but his badge and gun were gone. I knew something was really wrong with this picture, so I called the police and they told me to find somewhere to stay for the night, but by then it was eleven and I knew no one would be up...but then I remembered that you needed to know..."

Hotch nodded. "I understand. Thank you for coming here. I'll call JJ, and we'll try to get the team together, then head over to the apartments. We're going to find them, and we're going to find out who did this."

Eloïse smiled sadly and wrapped her arms around him, shaking as she cried. "Thank you, Aaron."

Hotch nodded, holding her until she herself finally let go, joining her sad smile before getting up and reaching for the house phone and dialing for JJ.

* * *

**_RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!_**

JJ nearly leapt out of bed as she scrambled to answer the phone. No one called this late at night unless it was really important. Will looked at her in exhausted confusion as he sat up, turning on the beside table lamp.

"Hello?" JJ said into the receiver.

"JJ, it's me Hotch. Sorry if I woke you," Hotch said on the other end.

"No, it's okay. Something wrong?" JJ asked, slipping on a pair of slippers before taking the phone out into the living room so Will could sleep some more.

Hotch sighed. JJ could hear someone crying in the background. "Reid's missing."

"What?!" JJ exclaimed. "Again?!"

"I know. This doesn't make any sense. But...I need you to meet me at the scene - er, their apartments. We need to check on Domonick and Amy's as well."

JJ nodded, pushing back a yawn. "Alright. I'll be there as soon as I can. Should I call the rest of the team?"

There was a pause. "At least Morgan and Rossi."

"Then I'm calling everyone. I'll see you soon," JJ said, and the two hung up.

JJ sighed, collapsing on the couch, her head falling in her hands.

Will walked out of their bedroom sleepily. "What's wrong?"

"Spencer's gone missing again," JJ replied, shaking her head. "I just can't think of anyone else who would want to hurt him, nor Domonick and Amy, since we need to check on them, too, to see if they're home or at least safe somewhere."

Will walked over to JJ and sat next to her. "And you're sure Stan's dead?"

JJ looked up at him, eyes widening in realization. "He was pronounced dead, but then we found the ME who did so dead in his home, his coffee containing kalium and potassium. At the time it was declared suicide - the empty bottles we found had his fingerprints on them - but now...it could have been murder."

Will nodded. "That easily could have been someone trying to cover themselves."

JJ closed her eyes and, as she rushed into their bedroom to get dressed and call the team, said, "And I'm pretty sure that person was trying to cover themselves so the world would believe he was really dead."

* * *

**Sunday, November 18th, 2012, 12:02 AM  
Reid and Eloise's Apartment, Quantico, VA**

Hotch shook his head as he walked over to the police officer standing by the safe. "Sir, Agent Aaron Hotchner, I'm here to take over."

The officer took his extended hand and said, "Lieutenant Marc Dwinnells, you're replacing me?"

Hotch nodded. "This case is possibly connected to one we're in the process of wrapping up."

Dwinnells raised his eyebrows. "The Nickhoales-Fields one?"

Hotch nodded as JJ walked over quickly.

"Hotch," she said, catching his attention. "I think I've figured out who did this."

Hotch nodded. "I know. There's something I need to tell you all. But first, Lieutenant Dwinnells, this is Agent Jennifer Jareau."

"Lieutenant Marc Dwinnells," Dwinnells said, offering his hand to JJ.

JJ accepted his hand. "Nice to meet you. Hotch, what is this that you need to tell us?"

Hotch sighed. "Where's everyone else?"

"In Domonick's and Amy's. They may have found something."

Hotch nodded. "Then that's where we're going."

The two walked across the hall into the usually-tidy apartment and were shocked by the disarray. "It looks like a struggle broke out here."

Morgan walked over, shaking his head. "They were never here. This was set up beforehand."

Hotch closed his eyes before saying, "There's something no one told any of you."

Rossi walked over, his eyes narrowing. Prentiss followed.

"Stan's body disappeared from the crime scene while we were with Amy in the hospital. I didn't tell anyone because I feared how Amy would react if she were to find out. And the ME who pronounced him dead and was found dead himself by supposed suicide? He was in cahoots with Stan and Stan killed him to silence him. Reid, Domonick, and Amy are gone, and he's the reason." Hotch sighed before adding, "And Stan's not going to stop with this mess until caught or killed."

"Or we are," JJ added sullenly.


	6. Five

**Sunday, November 18th, 2012  
Unknown**

Amy opened her eyes, never realizing she'd fallen asleep. Thankfully, it had been a dreamless sleep, so she managed to control herself as the first PTSD episode of the day came and passed. Stan was standing by a table covered in...quite a few things, but mostly tools, wires, and strange cans. Eventually, he sat and started to sort his supplies, paying no attention to Amy, Reid, and Domonick. Hours passed, and soon Amy discovered a sad truth: Stan was making something, and that something was going to kill them all.

Amy knew Stan wasn't looking, so she quickly used sign language to tell Reid and Dom to work together for them to escape. They nodded, carefully untying each other's wrists and stopped there, waiting for Amy's next cue. However, they simply stared at Amy, who had carefully and silently unbuttoned and removed her coat and long, black sweater, exposing only her button-down turtleneck sweater and dark skinny jeans. She swallowed nervously as she turned her attention to Stan.

"Stan?" she asked cautiously, using the voice she knew he fell for.

It worked. He straightened up and set down his wire cutter, enchanted by the sound of her voice. "Yes, Amy?"

Amy swallowed again as she said, "It's getting awfully...hot in here."

Stan turned his head slowly to face her as she slowly unbuttoned the turtleneck, exposing the pale flesh of her neck and chest. It obviously took all of Stan's strength not to get up and rip the turtleneck off her completely, as he was shaking and grabbing the chair he sat in, pressing his right hand to his mouth to prevent him from saying anything he knew he would regret.

Amy closed her eyes and smiled ever so slightly, acting as if the cool air on her neck and chest was heaven-blessed, when really, she knew her trick was working. "That feels...so good." She shook her head. "But it isn't enough." She slowly unbuttoned her turtleneck sweater further, exposing her bra and breasts.

* * *

Stan was nearly panting at the sight. He knew it was a ruse, which was why he was restraining himself. He'd been practicing his self-restraint a lot recently. However, he knew that if she dared open up that sweater further let alone remove it, he wouldn't be able to hold himself back much longer...

Amy's smile was fading, being replaced by semi-parted lips forming a rather seductive expression, especially with her eyes closed the way they were... "Still not enough..." Her voice was but a whisper as she unbuttoned the sweater to her belly button...

Stan couldn't control himself any longer. He rose from his seat and, in an almost literal flash, was on top of her, removing her sweater as well as his own in haste. Amy began to cry out but he silenced her, his lips pressing against hers, his tongue seeking the holy grail of her small mouth...

* * *

Amy couldn't believe her trick had worked. She panicked as he unbuttoned and unzipped their pants, removing their underwear quickly, but that was all speculation. She felt nothing down there as - from the ghastly pale faces of Reid and Dom in her periphery - he penetrated her for what seemed like the millionth time, only knowing for fact he was removing her bra and pulling her closer to him. His caresses seemed so foreign, as if the past nine months of silence between the two of them had been too much of a time gap which left him a starved lover. His kisses were dry, as if he had thirsted for her for too long in that nine-month drought. However, as Stan grew re-accustomed to her body, his hunger and thirst subsided some, and he seemed more passionate and gentle, his hands moving up and down her back without hurting her.

While Stan wasn't paying attention to her hands and eyes, she looked at Reid and Dom and waved her hand to catch their attention before signing for them to finish untying each other and get out. Dom translated in inaudible whispers (the siblings were experts at sign language, Dom having been a translator before anyone knew he was a CIA agent), and soon the two were untied and on their feet. Reid started to walk over slowly but Dom grabbed his arm tightly, shaking his head and mouthing what Amy had signed to him: "We're escaping this time; she'll stay behind."

Reid looked back at Amy with a pained expression, one that made Amy's eyes water, but she signed "No, go!" repeatedly until finally the two left. Amy knew their escape was crucial; it had been when she escaped and returned. She knew how much it hurt them to leave her there - it had hurt her, too - but she knew it was the only way to finally arrest Stan. And she knew that however long Stan made this last, his rage of having been outsmarted would be undeniably horrid.

And she knew he rarely missed his mark.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Sorry this is so short...**


	7. Six

**Author's Note:**

**I made a similar comment on Red Rain: if you ever think I need to change the rating, please tell me.**

**Also, PM me with any ideas you may have. No guarantees they'll be used the way you want them to be, but I will do my best to incorporate them in some way. Thanks!**

**Mislav, this is how I'm going to do it. Hope this is good enough for you!**

* * *

**Sunday, November 18th, 2012  
Unknown**

Reid and Domonick raced through the maze Stan had formed as quickly as they could, knowing the path out thanks to Reid's eidetic memory and Domonick's sharp eye. By the time Reid's car was in sight, Domonick was in so much pain he could barely stand.

"Just go," he said when Reid stopped to help him over to the car. "Amy's risked enough. I don't need you to risk anything more."

"But Stan will kill you when he finds you here!" Reid protested, already helping the younger man up. "Besides, Amy wouldn't want you to give up on her. And the team will be heartbroken and pissed at me for leaving you behind. They'll already be pissed at me for leaving Amy."

"That's where I come in- yeah, alright, fine, I'm coming," Domonick said as Reid sat him in the passenger seat of the car, him taking the driver's seat.

Reid instantly turned the key (it had been left in the ignition by a preoccupied Stan), and the usually-quiet car woke. "Right, we're in a very large, empty basement of an industrial building. Of course it's going to make a loud noise."

"Hopefully Stan's too busy to hear," Domonick said as the car raced from the building. He face-palmed himself. "God, I can't believe I just said that."

Reid shrugged. "Amy probably would have wanted you to say that. That's the kind of mentality we need at the moment."

"We also need a clear head, and I'm starving and in a lot of pain," Domonick protested.

Reid raised his hand. "I'm sorry, I am too, but we need to put off that until we find the team. By now Eloïse, Aryanna, James, and Danielle should have realized we were missing since we haven't picked up our phones nor did we show up for dinner-"

Domonick's eyes widened. "Our phones!" He pressed a button and his seat fell back all the way. He quickly grabbed the screwdriver from the tool box on the floor of the car, pressed the button so his seat went back up, and jammed the screwdriver in the lock of the glove compartment, popping it open. He hunted for his phone. "Got it." After turning it back on, he realized he'd missed nearly seventeen calls from Danielle, Eloïse, Aryanna, and James.

Reid looked over and saw Domonick staring at the screen of his phone, dumbstruck. Reid raised his eyebrows. "Told ya they'd be calling."

Domonick instantly started dialling Hotch's number. The phone rang twice. "Hotch."

"Hotch? It's Domonick."

There was a pause. "Is Stan there?"

"No, we escaped."

There was a squeal from someone standing near Hotch - no doubt Eloïse or Danielle - as Hotch asked, "By 'we,' you mean...?"

Domonick sighed. "I mean Reid and myself. Amy stayed behind as a distraction. It was her idea."

Hotch sighed. "Alright. Where are you?"

Domonick looked out at the road and the side-view mirror as Reid said, "We're just leaving Keysor, West Virginia."

"Reid says we're just leaving Keysor, West Virginia, but location won't matter very soon."

"Why's that?" Reid and Hotch asked at the same time.

Domonick looked at Reid. "Okay, that was creepy and entirely coincidental, but that's not the point. The bigger problem is two cars behind us."

Hotch sounded impatient. "What does that mean?"

Reid started, "Is that-"

Domonick nodded. "I know that tan Camry anywhere."

Hotch swore into the receiver.

"I know, Hotch, but this isn't an occasion for swearing-"

Suddenly Reid's phone started ringing.

"I can't answer it; I'm driving!" Reid exclaimed.

"I betchya I know who it is," Domonick said as he answered the phone and put it on speaker. "Hello?"

"You are one clever son of a bitch, you know that Dr. Reid?" Stan shouted into the phone.

Domonick's voice changed to that of an older Hispanic woman. "Dr. Reid? Who dat? I no know no Dr. Reid."

"Very funny Domonick!" Stan shouted.

"Domonique? No, Domonique not here. Call back in five minute, you get Domonique," Domonick answered, still using that voice. Reid was trying to contain himself from laughing, and through his own phone still pressed to his ear Domonick could hear Morgan laughing.

"Listen to me, you two. I know you both are there, so cut it out!" Stan shouted.

Domonick smiled. He was getting to him. "Cut it out? You wan me to hang up? Disconnect? Disconnect?"

That was the last straw: Stan lost it. "IF YOU DON'T PULL THE FUCK OVER I WILL SHOOT THROUGH THE WINDOW!"

Domonick froze. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't have Reid pull over without them getting killed, but he couldn't have Reid not pull over and possibly get them killed. He couldn't privately confer with Hotch about the situation because Stan was on speaker and no matter what he'd still hear their conversation (_the beauty of an iPhone: Apple knows no privacy, _Domonick claimed when he had to explain why he stuck with an Android).

Reid sighed. "What do I do?" he whispered.

Domonick closed his eyes and shook his head. "Calm down, Stan. It was a harmless joke. I thought you'd understand it. I guess not. Maybe we can talk our way through this."

Stan's shaky deep breath could be heard through the phone. "Pull over. I shouldn't be driving. And hang up with Agent Hotchner. He'll fill your head with lies."

Domonick shook his head. "No can do, Stan. If I pull over, you'll kill us, and I'm not about to leave Amy with no one."

"Eventually she will join you, then," Stan said. Somewhere next to him Amy screamed.

"Domonick don't! I can do this by myself! Go! Spencer, hit the gas and DRIVE!" Amy cried.

Reid exchanged a brief glance with Domonick as he shouted, "I'M SORRY HOTCH!" and did as Amy told him. The two skyrocketed down the road and onto a more secluded road.

Stan roared and sped after them, swerving around cars and knocking over a blue USPS mailbox as he caught up to them.

"Reid, pull over already!" Stan shouted.

"Reid we're going to crash if you go any faster!" Domonick shouted.

"Reid, slow down!" Hotch cried through the phone as if he was on speaker.

"Reid, turn!" Amy cried then screamed, the sound of someone moving quickly on Stan's end creating additional static on Domonick's end.

Domonick quickly looked in the side-view mirror in time to see Stan's Camry stop for a moment as Stan decked Amy and tossed her unconscious body into the back seat. Domonick winced, feeling his sister's pain. Stan was catching up to them again not thirty seconds later.

"AMY!" Domonick cried as he watched the event go down.

"Domonick, whatever you do, don't hang up!" Hotch shouted.

Suddenly a little girl ran out into the middle of the street, chasing after a bright blue ball. Reid foot nearly snapped the brake pedal in half as he slammed on it. The little girl looked up at him with big cow eyes and screamed as Stan failed to hit the brakes in time and collided with Reid's car, pushing it a good seven feet forward before the two cars finally came to a stop towards the right side of the road.

The sound of the little girl's scream and Hotch's last words ran though Reid's ears as he quickly undid his seatbelt and looked over at Domonick. He laid unconscious in his seat, his face nearly plastered onto the cracked window, his airbag deflating slowly. There were glass shards from the broken windshield in his lap and some dug into his arm. Reid's iPhone was at Dom's foot, the screen cracked and shattered, the call most definitely disconnected. However, he couldn't find Dom's phone, the cursed Android.

Reid's head spun to face the car behind him. Stan sat in the driver's seat, semi-conscious, a large gash on his forehead, his hands bloody and slowly releasing their death grip on the steering wheel. He pressed his hand to his head and winced in pain before removing it and turning to look in the back seat, eyes widening. He unbuckled his seatbelt and reached for Amy's body in the back seat, dragging her towards him. He kicked the door and got out, Amy in his arms.

People started rushing over. The mother of the little girl ran over and threw her arms around her crying daughter protectively, joining her tears. Reid caught a glimpse of the little blue ball she had run into the road after beneath his foot, a gaping hole in the floor beneath him. A man ran over to Stan and offered to take Amy from him, but Stan refused to let her go. Another young woman in a yellow pea coat and green jeans held a phone to her ear; she touched Stan's shoulder and told him something, but Stan shook his head.

Reid turned back over to Domonick, whose face was nearly covered in blood from an unseen head wound. He knew the young CIA agent would die soon if left there, so he quickly reached for his seatbelt buckle, but it was stuck. Reid sighed, then lifted the belt crossing Dom's chest over his head so it laid against the seat, then loosened the lap belt part and started to pull Dom from the car as sirens approached them. Soon a paramedic was standing next to Reid and pushing him out of the way. He carefully pulled Dom out of the ruined car and onto a waiting stretcher.

Reid reached inside the car and picked up the blue ball before searching for the little girl and her mother. He found them, and handed the ball to the mother, who touched his hand as she grabbed it. Her mouth moved, but Reid could hardly hear what she said. He was too busy searching for Stan.

But the old man carrying Amy's body was nowhere to be found as a dark car drove away behind him.


	8. Seven

**Sunday, November 18th, 2012 4:47 PM  
****BAU Headquarters, Quantico, VA**

"Domonick? Domonick? DOMONICK?!"

Hotch sighed as he removed the phone from his ear. He had heard a scream, the sound of metal crunching, glass breaking, tires squealing, then nothing. No dial tone, no footsteps, no voices. Nothing but silence.

"Hotch?" Prentiss asked, looking at him with concern written on her face.

"What happened?" Morgan asked.

Hotch sighed again. "Bad news. Reid and Domonick escaped at Amy's insistence. She created a diversion to distract Stan and therefore stayed behind. Domonick called me from the road, Reid learned they were just leaving Keyser, West Virginia, and then Domonick noticed Stan was on their tail. Stan called Reid's phone, and you heard most of that conversation. When I put the phone back to my ear, Domonick tried to talk Stan out of hurting them, they went into a wild pursuit that ended in a crash. The line went dead afterward."

Danielle was in tears, as was Eloïse. Eloïse finally cried, "Do we have any idea where they are?"

Hotch sighed. "Vaguely. All we know is they're near Keyser. Nothing more."

Suddenly Eloïse's cell phone rang. She hurried to answer it. "Eloïse Reid. Spencer?! Oh thank goodness you called! I- what? What's that mean? Spencer? Spencer?!" Her hand fell from her ear, her phone gripped tightly as she ended the call. "He...he simply said, 'El, it's Spencer. Wendy Vigil 4SQ-147.' Then nothing." Eloïse burst into tears again. Danielle bit her lip and wrapped her arms around her friend.

Morgan pursed his lips. "So I take it we're headed to Keyser?"

Hotch nodded. "We leave now."

* * *

**Sunday, November 18th, 6:59 PM  
****Potomac Valley Hospital, Keyser, WV**

Hotch walked up to the doctor who called him as he was driving with the team over to Keyser. He claimed he had a Dr. Spencer Reid and a Domonick Nickhoales admitted by ambulance, and the agent had Hotch listed as a next-of-kin. The doctor was an older man with grey hair and relatively fair skin. His blue eyes focused on the agent as Hotch strode over quickly.

The doctor tucked his clipboard under his arm and extended his right hand. "Agent Hotchner?"

Hotch nodded, taking the doctor's hand. "Agent Aaron Hotchner."

The doctor nodded. "I'm Dr. Leigh Rawlings. I took over the care of Dr. Reid and Domonick Nickhoales. I have been trying to reach Domonick's listed next-of-kin as well as his family, but no one has answered, and Dr. Reid is in no shape to make any necessary medical decisions."

Hotch sighed. "Domonick's family, save for his sister, are all dead. The last was killed a little over ten-eleven months ago. We're all he has."

Dr. Rawlings nodded. "As I suspected. The name Nickhoales isn't very popular, so I had my suspicions but... I didn't want to make any assumptions."

Hotch suddenly was curious. "Who is Domonick's listed next-of-kin?"

Dr. Rawlings flipped through papers on his clipboard. "Dr. Spencer Reid and a...Stan Fields."

Hotch raised his eyebrows. "He hasn't updated this in a while, has he? I mean, despite the fact that Dr. Reid is a recent friend."

"Probably not, considering Stan Fields is dead."

Hotch shook his head. "He's the one who caused this medical mess."

Dr. Rawlings raised his eyebrows. "Really now? So he's the one who left the scene carrying that girl and a gun?"

"Girl and a gun?" Hotch asked, intrigued.

"Yeah, witnesses claim that the man in the other car, the tan Camry, the one that caused the collision, was seen fleeing the scene with a young and somewhat injured and unconscious girl," Dr. Rawlings claimed.

"Interesting. That's very...interesting information," Hotch said, narrowing his eyes in thought. "My team is headed to the scene and following the likely routes taken. More important, though, is how are Dr. Reid and Domonick?"

Dr. Rawlings sighed. "Let me take you over to Dr. Reid and I'll explain on the way."

The two walked through the electric doors and headed for the ER rooms. "Agent Hotchner, Dr. Reid has a sprained wrist and a small fracture in his ankle. He also has a concussion from his fall, a few broken ribs, and we also found rope burn around his wrists, same with Domonick. Domonick is in a worse state. He angered an old leg injury, has a somewhat severe concussion, a very severe head wound that required stitches, a broken wrist, a dislocated knee - which we relocated - as well as glass fragments that are still being removed. Both men are currently unconscious, Domonick when EMS got to the scene and Dr. Reid after making a quick phone call."

Hotch was rather shocked. "Stan...didn't even torture them. I'm slightly amazed and slightly concerned."

"Excuse me if I'm incorrect about this, but how long were they missing or held captive?" Dr. Rawlings asked as he led Hotch into Reid's room.

"Only yesterday and today, I believe. I'd have to ask them about that," Hotch replied, taking in Reid's unconscious form. He had an oxygen mask on, but it hardly covered the bruising on his face from the airbag (or so Hotch hoped), nor did it cover the brace on his left wrist or the bandages that were being wrapped around his torso. It also didn't cover the glass fragments being pulled from his right hand and arm, no doubt the one closest to the shattered windshield.

"An EMT had to stop him from pulling out Domonick," Dr. Rawlings said. "We believe he got those glass fragments in his right arm and hand while he was originally getting him out of the car. Most of the shattered windshield broke on Domonick's side."

Hotch nodded. "And Domonick?"

Dr. Rawlings sighed. "I can't let you see him just yet."

Hotch nodded, understanding. "Just wondering." He looked at his watch. "I have to call the team and fill them in."

Dr. Rawlings nodded and smiled. "You can use my office if you need to."

Hotch nodded. "That would be wonderful, thank you."

Dr. Rawlings simply smiled and nodded, leading him down the hall to his office. Once the doctor left, Hotch took out his cell phone and dialed for Rossi.

Two rings later, Rossi picked up. "Rossi."

"It's Hotch."

"How are Reid and Domonick?"

Hotch sighed. "Not too good. Both are unconscious with concussions and rope burn on their wrists. Reid has a sprained left wrist, a small fracture in his ankle, and a few broken ribs. Of course there's also facial bruising I'm sincerely hoping was only from the airbag, but there are no signs of previous torture. Domonick has a severe head wound, he angered his gunshot wound, has a somewhat severe concussion, a broken wrist, a dislocated knee, and glass fragments that are still being removed."

Rossi didn't answer for a minute. When he finally did, he sighed. "At least they're alive and there was no physical torture."

Hotch sighed. "At least. What are you guys finding?"

"Lots of blood and shattered glass. Both cars are definitely totaled. No sign of Stan or Amy, but we did find blood on the passenger seat and the backseat of the Camry. We're trying to see if that on the passenger seat is splatter from Stan or if Amy had actually been sitting in the passenger seat and was sent flying into the backseat at the collision."

Hotch suddenly remembered something. "Domonick screamed Amy's name at one point. She also had screamed just before that. Maybe that blood was from before the collision, and Stan had hit her to shut her up."

"Maybe," Rossi said. "That would only make sense. We have another problem."

"We do?" Hotch asked.

Rossi seemed to nod. "Mmhm. Stan's out on the road. A woman came up to us saying her car had been stolen by a man with a pistol."

Hotch closed his eyes. "He fled. Again."

"And by the amount of blood in the car," Rossi added, "He isn't in the best of shape."


	9. Eight

**Author's Note:**

**Stan seems to get away all the time, doesn't he?**

* * *

**Monday, November 19th, 2012 12:02 AM  
Unknown**

Stan knew the police would be on his trail, and he knew they'd have the BAU with them. By stealing that woman's car, he knew it was a risk, but it was one he was willing to take. He had to get out of there and he had to have Amy with him. She would not leave his side until death do them part.

Thinking of the young teen, he turned his head to glance at her briefly in the back seat. She was still unconscious, but he had been more careful this time and bound her wrists with duct tape (the car didn't have rope or cords or wire) as well as using more to cover her mouth in case she woke up and he was out of the car. He had stopped once to fill up the gas tank, and was relieved when the gas station had the duct tape and she had never even roused nor aroused suspicion.

Stan focused on the road in front of him again. He knew he was probably going to jeopardize everything, including his family's safety, but he had to do it. Amy could die. And then it would be his fault. And Stan couldn't bear that possibility. He'd been responsible for much too much death already and hadn't paid properly. Losing Amy the first time was a teaser. Prison would be Hell on Earth. Stan lived in Purgatory. But with Amy, he lived in Heaven.

Carefully, Stan turned the car's blinker on and turned a corner. He parked on the side of the road and pulled the key from the ignition. Then, very carefully, he pulled a prepaid cell phone from his pocket and dialed the number.

Inside the house across the street, he heard the phone begin to ring. By the third ring, a light went on in the upstairs bedroom, turning off again and being replaced by the living room light.

At the fifth ring, the phone picked up. "Hello? Carter residence."

"Rob? It's Stan."

There was an angered sigh. "You bastard of a brother. What do you want?"

"Your help. Come outside, but bring your medical kit. I'm in the car across the street."

The living room curtain opened slightly, and a thin man with greying brown hair, pale skin, and grey-green eyes appeared, holding a house phone to his ear, wearing blue pajamas. "The black one?"

"Yes. Please hurry, but get dressed first." _Take your time. I have a lot to hide first._

There was another angered sigh, followed by more silence. The curtain closed and the figure behind it disappeared. "Stan, you're lucky I'm your older brother and our father forced me to look after you. I'll be out there in ten-fifteen minutes."

Stan smiled. "Thanks, Rob. I know." With that, he hung up and put the phone in his pocket again, turning to look at Amy again. He carefully lowered the seat and took out a pair of scissors he'd found in the car, using them to cut the duct tape from Amy's wrists. He carefully removed the duct tape on her mouth, lightly kissing her lips after doing so. He put the seat back up and put the duct tape in the plastic grocery bag on the passenger seat. As the front door opened, he moved the plastic bag to the glove compartment (which was surprisingly unlocked) and gestured for Rob to come around to the passenger seat.

As soon as Rob was inside the car, the 59-year-old man's eyes widened. "Good God Stan! What the hell happened to you?!"

"It's a long story," Stan said, closing his eyes as his brother began to clean the wound on his head.

"Does it have anything to do with the APB out for you?" Rob asked, carefully beginning to stitch the wound.

"You listen to the police scanner now?" Stan asked, eyes flashing open.

"Hold still! No, I happen to watch the news. Now, where's Amy?"

Stan sighed. "Back seat."

"I'm going to look at her once I finish stitching this up, then I'm going to ask you to come inside and into the basement so I can actually treat you two properly," Rob insisted.

"Go ahead."

With that, Rob finished stitching Stan's forehead, then turned around to look at the unconscious form of Amy laying on the back seat. He pursed his lips. "Let's get her inside. I'm going to need to take a better look at her in better lighting."

Stan nodded, and the two exited the car, Stan pushing his seat forward so he could get the young teen out of the two-door vehicle. The siblings then carried her into the house and down into the basement, where Rob laid her on a metal table he had Stan cover with a white sheet from the dryer. Rob then began to remove her coat, stopping after the first five buttons were undone.

There was a pause and silence as Stan struggled not to button nor finish unbuttoning the coat. Rob turned to Stan and said, "Is there any reason in particular she is not wearing a bra nor a shirt?"

Stan remained silent, still struggling to keep still.

Rob closed his eyes and shook his head. "You are such an idiot, Stan. A weak idiot."

Stan looked at the ground. "I know. But you have to admit she's beautiful."

Rob's eyes flew open. "Beautiful or not, you're an idiot, Stan. First you kill Lucile, then you kill Samantha, and now you're probably going to kill Amy. What the fuck is wrong with you? Can't you see the monster you're becoming?"

"I know! Do you not think I wake up every morning wondering why I bother doing so when everyone knows I'm a Goddamned monster that can hardly manage to do the right thing for his family, all because I'm too weak to dare go against my father's dying wishes?!"

"Exactly, Stan. His _dying_ wishes. He's dead. Gone. He wouldn't be able to make sure you followed through with it!"

"Yes, but a promise is a promise and I do not break my promises, especially those made in the name of God."

"For crying out loud, Stan, God would never want anyone to kill. Why else would he have a Commandment against it?!"

Stan froze. "I said the same thing to Father when he told me to do it. 'Thou shalt not kill.' And do you know what his response was?"

Rob glared at Stan. "No, but I'm sure you'll tell me."

Stan closed his eyes. "He shouted to me, 'Yes, but thou shalt honor thy father.'"

There was a period of silence. Rob finally sighed, defeated. He pressed his palms against the table Amy laid on and hung his head. "So that's why you did it all?"

Stan nodded slowly, eyes closed to prevent his brother from seeing the tears of weakness he was about to shed. "He left me no choice. Father said I'd be doing exactly what God would have wanted me to, being the wrong child and the only one capable of doing so. So...so I agreed."

"What did you say, exactly?"

Stan sighed. "'Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to according to your word.' And then he nodded and died."

Rob sighed. "Right. The majority of Luke 1:38."

Stan nodded.

Rob suddenly looked at his brother in confusion. "You actually memorized the Bible?"

"He forced me. I probably would have done it on my own anyways, but yes," Stan said.

"What the revelation," Rob said.

Stan chuckled. "Amy's had it memorized since the age of five. I started at the age of eight and didn't get it all down until eleven."

"Where was I for all of this?!" Rob exclaimed as he continued examining Amy.

"Oh, you know, your room, friends' houses, church, school, the store, the cinema, social places. You couldn't be bothered to be home where Father might hurt you and your younger brother for being both male," Stan said, sitting next to Amy's head on the table, brushing her hair from her face. That beautiful face...

"Interesting," Rob muttered, cleaning several wounds on Amy's chest and torso before wrapping them in white bandages.

"You were never really there after that, since you grew up faster and quickly married Mellissa. I figured it had to do with my being...who I am, so I felt worse about myself. Had I never met Lucile, I'm sure I would have pulled the trigger," Stan said, resting his hand on Amy's pale cheek, feeling her breath on his skin.

Rob stopped what he was doing and turned to stare at Stan. "You almost commit suicide?"

Stan closed his eyes. "When your father shouts at you that he wished you were never born or born the opposite gender and beats you for it every day and uses your religion against you, claiming the all-loving Heavenly Father finds it unbelievable that you were born and that He wants you to either die or do the right thing for the family, and then your brother, the one person that never wanted to hurt you and seemed to be the only one that loved you, leaves you to spend time with other people, it makes you feel pretty worthless."

Rob frowned. "Stan, I never knew that it hurt you. I was too busy trying to get away from Father. Maybe I should have taken you with me."

Stan shrugged. "I'd still feel worthless, and I never would have met Lucile. Had it not been for Lucile's love, I don't think I would be here right now, meaning Amy would still be happy. Amy would still have everyone that cared about her, and she never would have discovered she liked the idea of becoming a FBI agent like she should. But that would be a good idea, because then she could do what made her and others happy. Rob...I feel terrible that I did this to her. When I did it to Samantha and I, it was simply bitter and a feeling close to 'If I don't do this, how will Father react?' Afterward, I was amidst Samantha's love for me, and she in mine. But when she...I...stabbed..." Stan closed his eyes and struggled to returned to being a composed man. "When Samantha died, I felt lost. So I went and found Amy again. I settled with befriending her and her family at first, but then she grew up and matured..." Stan swallowed and stopped himself.

Rob understood. "I get it. You couldn't restrain yourself anymore, kind of like here."

Stan turned around and looked down at Amy. Rob had removed her pants to find no underwear and extreme irritation, swelling, and semen, causing Stan to turn bright red. "I...think I need a shower."

Rob nodded. "Good idea. I'm going to finish up here and get her new clothes. You should probably use the guest bedroom shower, though, in case Peter or Mellissa find you and ask why you're back so early."

Stan nodded and took some of his clothes from the clean clothes hamper before heading upstairs and showering. He carefully washed the blood from his skin and hair despite the amount of pain he was in doing so. Once he had washed himself, he stood under the hot water and let the heat relax his tense, sore muscles. After fifteen minutes, he shut off the water and dried himself off, not letting himself think for the moment. He carefully slipped on the black jeans and black military-style button-down shirt, making sure to remove his belt from his bloody pants on the floor and use it for the jeans he was wearing. He carefully took the bloody clothes he had been wearing and wrapped them in his towel before leaving the bathroom. He quickly and silently snuck through the house (despite his slight limp, he _was_ fast and quiet), opening the back door and putting his bloody bundle in the fire pit. Stan covered the bundle with the ashes already inside and wood from the shed before setting it all on fire. He watched it burn, making sure the clothes and towel were destroyed before pouring sand over the fire to snuff it and heading back inside and into the basement.

Rob had been busy. Amy's forehead had a white bandage on the spot where Stan had struck her in the car (oh, how he regretted hurting her!), and her wrist had been wrapped in an Ace bandage. There were several lines of stitches on her right forearm and one line on her shoulder, as well as white gauze wrapping her entire torso. When Stan walked down the stairs, Rob was slipping a long black skirt of Mellissa's that was much too small for his wife on Amy, a red blouse folded next to her head. Stan limped over and helped his brother dress the beautiful young teen, unbuttoning the blouse completely before slipping it on her like a coat before buttoning each button starting at the one at the bottom and ending with the one at the top. He was tempted to leave it open at the top, exposing her breasts, but he figured he had hurt her enough and therefore buttoned it all the way.

Rob held up two pairs of Mellissa's shoes. "These are too small, and these aren't her style."

Stan took the ones that were too small - a pair of rhinestone ballet flats - and slipped them on Amy's small feet. Surprisingly, they were a perfect fit. "Since when was Mellissa a two?"

Rob chuckled. "Since she discovered she loved those flats. But then she complained how much they hurt her feet, so they've been down here, waiting for a Goodwill run."

Stan chuckled. "She really has meshed into American society."

Rob nodded. "So has Peter. I've re-meshed myself into it. You've stayed meshed into it. If our accents didn't give us away, people could probably think we were Americans."

Stan chuckled, then said, covering his accent. "And now I am one."

Rob stepped back. "Okay, now that's cool and creepy at the same time."

Stan chuckled again before leaning over to pick Amy up. Rob's left hand grasped his right shoulder, stopping him.

"Not so fast. I still have to finish assessing your wounds," Rob insisted, dragging over a chair. "Sit."

Stan sat slowly, extending his right leg out flat and wincing in pain.

Rob carefully rolled up the right leg of Stan's jeans and looked at the limb from the feet up to the knee, where his eyes met and locked on a single, enormous scar surrounding the knee. "What the hell, Stan? What the hell happened here? Was this from childhood?"

Stan shook his head. "Last year. January 4th, 2011."

Rob sighed. "You should have told me. Do you have any idea how much damage you could have caused yourself by not getting this looked at?"

"But I did get it looked at! The clinic didn't ask for ID or anything, so I got treated, paid with cash, and left. It's not my fault they didn't do a good job," Stan argued.

"Exactly: you went to a _clinic_. You should have gone to a hospital. Now you have irreparable knee damage, and for what?" Rob argued back.

Stan sighed. "Forget it. Just look at the more recent wounds. The ones that _can_ be treated."

Rob glared up at his brother, but continued examining him. He taped his left ring and middle fingers togehter due to their being jammed, cleaned and wrapped a few minor cuts on his arms and legs, then stood.

"That's it," Rob said. "I take it you'll be leaving now? After all, the FBI will soon be showing up at the door."

Stan nodded. "As soon as I can. I just need to get a few things before I go."

Rob nodded, yawning. "Oh, and Amy there has a concussion. Be careful with her, will you?"

Stan smiled. "Of course I'll be careful. I'm not about to hurt her again. I've learned from that mistake."

Rob nodded, then yawned again. "Now, I'm going to bed and acting as if you never showed up here."

"Sounds good." Stan remained seated.

The eldest walked slowly to the basement stairs then turned and stared at the youngest. "Stan, you can be a complete asshole sometimes, you know that?"

Stan hung his head and mumbled sadly, "I know."

Rob sighed. "But I love you anyways. After all, you are my baby brother."

Stan looked up and forced a smile. "Even in our fifties?"

Rob chuckled. "Even in death."

Stan looked at the floor at Rob's feet. "I love you too, Rob."

Rob rolled his eyes. "Whatever, now leave before the FbI shows up and I get in trouble for helping you."

Stan nodded. "I will, don't worry."

With that, the eldest Carter brother yawned and walked up the basement stairs and up to his bedroom, where the youngest knew he would be falling asleep.

Stan stood carefully and walked over to Amy, whom he gently picked up and placed over his shoulder. He walked upstairs to the kitchen's alcohol "store" (he had quite the collection of rich and expensive alcohol brands and types), where he grabbed his favorite Remy Martin VSOP cognac and poured the contents into his flask. He put the bottle back and removed the half-empty bottle of Costa Lazaridi Oinotria Land, one of Stan's favorite Greek wines. As soon as he had that in his hands, he knew he was ready to leave. He carried Amy over to the front door, opened it, turned off the living room and kitchen light, then left the house, closing and locking the door behind him. Stan carried Amy across the street and into the back seat of the black car he'd stolen at gunpoint, wrapping more duct tape around her wrists and ankles as well as her mouth before pushing the seat back and getting in himself. As he put the key back in the ignition and drove off, he thought about getting a different car, preferably another black vehicle like the one he had stolen.

And he knew this time, he'd acquire it _legally_.


	10. Nine

**Author's Note:**

**So fast, I know! It helps I've had most of this chapter pre-written!**

* * *

**Monday, November 19th, 2012, 6:58 AM  
BAU Headquarters, Quantico, VA**

Hotch paced back and forth in his office, waiting for a phone call. Prentiss, JJ, Morgan, and Rossi soon walked in toting to-go coffee cups. Rossi handed one to Hotch, who took it gladly, drinking the strong, scalding contents thirstily.

Finally, the phone rang. He picked it up. "Agent Hotchner."

"It's Garcia."

Hotch paused. "Garcia, we're in Quantico."

"I'm not, remember? I stayed with Reid for when he woke?"

Hotch nearly slapped himself. "Right. Sorry. I hardly slept last night. What do you have for us, Garcia?" He put her on speaker.

"Okay, so at around 1:22 AM this morning Virginia State Police found the black car from the APB. Inside was a plastic bag with pieces of duct tape being sent for DNA and fingerprint analysis and the back seat had quite a bit of blood on it. The passenger seat also had pieces of medical supplies, such as gauze and a stitching needle. There was also an empty bottle of Costa Lazaridi Oinotria Land, which is a Greek wine. That too has been sent for DNA, fingerprint, and lip print analysis."

"What about a license plate?" JJ asked.

"The VA State Police weren't too keen on sharing, but I have a visual of the car from the security footage of this bar out in Roanoke. The license plate...is a West Virginian tag with 4SQ-147 written on it."

Everyone exchanged a look. "Reid had seen the tag and was trying to tell us that. He could only remember Eloise's number, no doubt, and so he called her and told her," Morgan said, saying what was on everyone's mind.

Hotch nodded. "And now we need to see that car."

Garcia giggled. "I have something even better than the address of the bar the car is parked at."

"Which is?" Rossi asked.

Garcia seemed to beam through the phone. "The address of a house under the registration of one Stan Fields."

* * *

**Monday, November 19****th****, 2012 10:32 AM  
House of Stan Fields, Roanoke, VA**

Hotch knocked on the door, his hand on his holster if he needed to quickly draw his weapon and fire. Morgan and Rossi stood with him, both also with their hands on their holsters. Under their shirts they wore bulletproof vests, just in case it came to a shootout.

From inside there were heavy footsteps as someone ran to the door, along with the barking of a small dog. The deadbolt was unlocked by someone inside, and the door opened, a young man dressed in khakis and a light blue polo standing in front of them.

"Hello?"

"Is a Stan Fields here?" Hotch asked, flashing his badge.

"Fields? The last name's Carter, but no, he's out of town. He said about a week ago he was going to some convention and that he should be back, gosh, yesterday. I figured he was enjoying himself and didn't worry. But…Fields? Good God, Uncle!" the man said.

Hotch nodded, understanding. "I'm Agent Hotchner. We have a search warrant. We'd also like to ask you and whoever else is here with you some questions about your…uncle?"

The man nodded. "Certainly. Come on in. The name's Peter Carter, and Stan's my uncle, yes."

Hotch thanked him and let Morgan and Rossi enter the house first, signaling to the rest of the team to come inside. Prentiss and JJ were quick to hop out of the SUV and walk over.

Prentiss pulled Hotch aside momentarily. "Should I request-"

Hotch put up his hand. "No. He isn't here. He hasn't been here for nearly a week. He planned the whole thing out."

Prentiss shook her head. "First he's the most prolific – something along the lines of 1,190 people killed by one man – now he's extremely organized."

"The worst combination," Hotch agreed. "No wonder we were assigned his case back in January."

Prentiss shook her head and sighed as she entered the house, Hotch in tow.

Peter closed the door after them. "What can I help you with?"

Morgan quickly asked, "Where's his bedroom?"

Peter pointed up the beautiful wood staircase. "Upstairs and at the end of the hallway to the left. He usually keeps the door closed, but I wouldn't be surprised if this time he locked it as well, now that I know the truth."

Hotch nodded, and Morgan, Rossi, and JJ all went upstairs to the room, Hotch staying with Peter to ask him a few questions. "First, who is staying here?"

"Besides me and my uncle – rather, my uncle and I – it's just my parents. They came over in late April."

"Came over – what do you mean by that?"

"We live in Surrey, England, the birthplace of the Carter family. Stan stayed here to take care of Grandfather, and my father moved back to England just after Stan's wedding. I never did get to meet his wife Lucile nor his daughter Samantha. I was born in England afterwards."

"Who are your parents exactly?"

"Robert and Mellissa Carter."

"And where are they right now?"

"My mum is gardening out back and my father went out to lunch with some old friends."

Hotch nodded. "Now, when did you get here?"

Peter sighed. "Have a seat." The two sat in the kitchen at the small table. "Uncle Stan had asked me about nine months ago to come here to help him. He said he was in the hospital and had been in an accident. Of what nature he didn't tell me, but he said he would recover but need my help for a while since Aunt Lucile wasn't here anymore and neither was his daughter Samantha. I told him I'd be there when I could, and my father told me to get on a plane as soon as academy finals were done. The academy said I could take a leave of absence for however long I needed it, considering I'm one of the most diligent – and youngest – professors at Cambridge."

Hotch's eyes widened at that last bit of information, but he shook it off, asking, "Is there anything about Stan that may be important or anything seem out of the ordinary?"

Peter pursed his lips. "Well, he had a…particular, er, interest in Amy Nickhoales. He would always watch whatever she had on the television for the day. I've tried to get him tickets for a show, but he refused, saying it was better he' limited his exposure to the world due to present circumstances,' never elaborating on what circumstances he spoke of. Now I know what those were."

"PETER!" a female voice called from the back of the house. "What's going on?"

Peter stood. "COMING, MUM!" He turned to Hotch. "Forgive me."

Hotch stood and followed Peter to the back of the house, where Prentiss stood, talking to a petite blonde woman in her mid-to-late forties, early fifties with bright green eyes, suntanned skin, and an angered scowl on her face. She wore grass- and soil-stained jeans with a brown cap-sleeved V-neck shirt under a red windbreaker with gardening boots, gloves, and a floral apron. This was Mellissa Carter.

"Mum, the FBI is here-" Peter started, but Hotch interrupted.

"Forgive me. You are…Mellissa Carter, correct?" Hotch asked.

"Yes, I am, but why are you here?" she asked, her voice accented like a South African.

Hotch held out his hand. "My name is Agent Aaron Hotchner, and we're here because this house is registered under the name Stan Fields, and that is who we are looking for."

"But Stan Fields doesn't live here," Mellissa argued.

Peter put his hand on her shoulder. "Mum, Uncle Stan _is_ Stan Fields."

Mellissa turned to her son in shock. "That's impossible! His last name is Carter, just like ours and your father's and your grandfather's and his father before him and-"

"We know that is his birth name, Mrs. Carter, but he changed it to Fields on top of using that as his stage name," Hotch said.

Mellissa set her gardening tools down next to the basket full of fresh garden vegetables on the small table against the wall in the room in which they were in, shocked. "I can't believe it. My own brother-in-law, a murderer, rapist, and pedophile." She shook her head. "This is all his father's fault, I know it. Had Mr. Carter never hurt his youngest son nor forced him to do many things, Stan would have been a wonderful man as well as a happy father and husband. He never would have met this Amy girl and he never would have…" Mellissa shook her head again. "Forgive me. You'll probably want to search the place-"

"We already are, Mrs. Carter," Hotch said.

Mellissa nodded. "I suspected as much. And please, call me Mellissa."

Hotch nodded as Morgan called, "HOTCH! YOU'RE GOING TO WANT TO SEE THIS!"

"Excuse me," Hotch said, then hurried upstairs to Stan's bedroom.

The room was neat and simply furnished, with a bed, a nightstand, a desk, a closet, a dresser, and a bookcase littered with books and trinkets. The walls were light blue, the floor dark hardwood, and it was extremely neat.

"It's almost like he has OCD," Hotch noted as he entered the room, taking in the perfect alignment of every item in the room.

"He's an extremely organized murderer, yes, but even down to the contents of his closet," Rossi said, pointing at the box Morgan was sifting through.

"Hotch, you will not believe what these are," Morgan said. "I can't believe I'm touching them."

Hotch bent down to look at them. "What are they?"

"The box simply has a giant **_A. S. P._** on it, but the tapes are individually labeled. You will not believe what we have found," Morgan said.

Hotch instantly knew. "The missing evidence. The tapes Amy mentioned. These are them, aren't they?"

Morgan nodded. "All are labeled with her name and the date they were filmed."

Hotch shook his head. "We're going to have to watch them."

Morgan instantly shoved the box out of his lap. "I'm not watching these. I've lived it enough."

"And so has Amy. That's why we're helping her," Rossi said.

Morgan sighed, picking up the box reluctantly and putting it on the neatly-made bed before taking down another box. "Same deal with this?"

Hotch shrugged. "Open it. It's the only way to find out."

Morgan sighed again, but he opened the box and looked at its contents in confusion. "What the…?"

Hotch looked over his shoulder. Inside was a bloody knife.

"Whose blood?" Rossi asked.

Hotch shook his head. "I don't know, but I'm doubting it's Rebecca Galante's. The knife's too wide for the stab wounds found on her body."

The team members that were in the room continued searching for evidence.

"Guys, over here," JJ called from across the room at the desk an hour later.

Hotch and Rossi walked over quickly. "What is it?"

In her blue-gloved hands was a green velvet-covered journal. "I think we've found Amy's journal."

"_He_ stole it? But why?" Rossi asked.

Hotch shook his head. "We'll have to ask him when we finally arrest him."

"This may be the first case where I want to get to the arrest then fail because we finally killed him," Morgan said. "This son of a bitch needs to die this time."

Hotch shook his head. "Morgan, relax. We're going to get him, and we will not fire unless necessary. I almost don't want you with us when we make the arrest, but we'll need you." Hotch turned back to Rossi and JJ. "I have to get back downstairs to Mellissa and Peter, but keep searching. Whatever you find that could be good evidence, make sure we get it."

JJ suddenly kicked the bottom drawer on the right side of the desk then sighed. "I was hoping that would have done something to the lock."

"He has the key, I'm sure of it," Peter said from the doorway. Prentiss and Mellissa stood behind him.

Hotch sighed. "That won't help us now. Is there any way we can break the lock to get inside?"

Peter pursed his lips, then said, "I can try to saw the lock."

Mellissa hit his arm. "Peter! That is Stan's drawer."

"Mum, Uncle Stan isn't here, and soon it won't matter because he'll either be in prison or Hell," Peter said. "Besides, there could be important evidence inside that drawer."

Mellissa shook her head. "I helped him pack. He emptied that drawer."

Hotch narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure?"

Mellissa nodded. "He took out a black locked box and a smaller wooden keepsake box family in South Africa made him that he modified with a lock. Stan was a very private man, but he needed my help for packing for what we thought was a convention of some sort. I personally hoped he finally was going to an AA meeting."

"An AA meeting? He's an alcoholic?" JJ asked.

Mellissa nodded. "Peter, tell them what you told Agent Prentiss and me."

Peter sighed, then said, "There was many a night where he would come home by cab heavily intoxicated to the point the cabbie made me pay him extra. But once in April, he came home via cab and wasn't drunk at all. He told me not to worry about him – I should worry about him when he was drunk – but I was suspicious. He even had some coffee when he got home. Stan hates coffee."

"Is it possible that the date was April 13th?" Hotch asked.

Morgan turned to Hotch. "You're not suggesting he was the man out on the sidewalk smoking when we left Amy's birthday party, are you?"

Hotch nodded as Mellissa said, "Smoking? Stan doesn't smoke."

Peter sighed. "Yes, and as of two hours ago, he was still supporting stronger gun control laws, cutting down on fuel costs, and the death penalty. As of two hours ago, Uncle Stan was a free man to us. Now, we know he's a wanted fugitive of the law, a murderer, a rapist, and a gun carrier."


	11. Ten

**Author's Note:**

**Don't ever expect this frequent of updates of me ever again until summertime. Even then don't expect this frequent of updates. I am simply on a role and all I want to do is write about Amy and Stan, although I really should be writing more of _Red Rain_ as well...**

* * *

**Monday, November 19th, 2012  
Unknown**

Amy woke slowly and in a lot of pain. Her head throbbed, her arm burned, her chest and torso felt like someone had stabbed many times, but that was all she felt. She moved her left hand to her forehead, only to find her right hand accompany it. Moving her hands in front of her, she discovered her wrists had been bound in duct tape. A quick examination of the tightness on her face told her she had more on her mouth, and she could only guess about the rest of her body from the waist down. She looked around her, finding it dark yet...warm and comfortable. She was laying down, yes, but on what? In what?

A blanket had been laid over her, so she carefully raised her arms to grasp the plush fleece material and pulled it away to peek out into the world. With one look around her, she knew she was in a car with cream leather seats. This wasn't the tan Camry, though, that much she was sure of. Stan was sitting in the driver's seat, fast asleep. Something about the way it appeared that Stan had simply fallen asleep in the car the way he did made Amy feel like he had simply given up on staying awake any longer, or he'd done something to make himself pass out.

Ever so carefully, Amy pushed herself to a seated position and looked around her. They were parked in a commuter lot somewhere farther away from any town in whatever state they were in. It was dark, and a hazy fog was settling in around them. From what Amy could see, thick forestation surrounded them. So...where were they?

Stan groaned and stirred, causing Amy to jump, turning her head in his direction fearfully. He grimaced, pressing his right hand behind his head as if he had a headache. Amy waited as he shook his head and downed the contents of the water bottle he had in the cupholder in the front of the car. Finally he turned around and his bloodshot grey-green eyes locked on to Amy's terrified brown ones. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Right. Now it's coming back to me," Stan said, but his voice was accented like an American. "Right."

Stan lowered his seat and slid over, sitting next to Amy, who tried to shift away as far as she could to the door, but it was no use: this was a two-door car, meaning she was going to hit a wall of paneling. She began to whimper, trying to tell Stan to come no further, but she couldn't.

Stan's soft voice whispered soothing things as he carefully rested his hand on her shoulder. "Shhh, it's going to be alright. I'm not going to hurt you anymore. I'm sorry. I've done too much, said too little. Shhh, it's going to be alright. You'll see. It'll all work out in the end."

Amy shook her head as Stan slid closer, no doubt sitting on her legs. She raised her hands up to her face, shying away from his touch. She shook her head at his lies. He had his own plan, and no matter what, she'd be getting hurt.

Stan reached for her hands and pulled them away from her face, causing her to yelp. The sound was muffled by the duct tape, but it was still clear to Stan he'd hurt her. "I'm sorry, Amy. I forgot your wrist was sprained."

_Sprained?!_ Amy thought. _What the hell happened while I was out?!_

Stan sensed her confusion. He slowly and carefully removed the tape from her mouth. "There. That better?"

Amy chose to remain silent. Stan was beginning to scare her. This wasn't usual of him.

Stan's eyes suddenly widened. "Oh Lord, what have I done?!" His voice was back to his natural British accent. "Oh good God no! You-" He looked at Amy again, saw the hurt and confusion in her eyes, and slapped himself. "Stan, you idiot!"

Amy couldn't bear it any longer. "Stan, what's wrong?"

Stan shook his head. "Everything's all coming back to me now. Damn, I drank myself silly last night, didn't I?"

"You drink?" Amy had never seen him touch a glass of wine at family parties let alone anything stronger. He always was the one to abstain from the alcohol.

Stan sighed. "I wish I didn't, but unfortunately I do. And I betchya I left the bottle in the other car, too. So much evidence is in that vehicle...I have seriously tripped myself up."

"Bottle of what? Stan, what happened?" Amy asked, trying to assert herself again.

Stan sighed again. "Wine. A somewhat expensive Greek wine. What happened is Dr. Reid and Domonick escaped, we went on a wild chase, and then we crashed."

Amy nearly screamed. "You WHAT?"

"You were already unconscious and luckily in the back seat. If you weren't, I fear you might have lost your life."

"And what happened to Spencer and Dom?"

"No clue. I know I saw Spencer get out of the car, but I was busy."

"Busy? Doing what?!"

"Getting us the hell out of there."

Amy sighed angrily. "You know Stan, you should really turn yourself in."

"Really, and be shot immediately by Agent Morgan? No thank you!"

"Well, he may shoot you anyways eventually!"

Stan stopped. He closed his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm being selfish. All I want is to be with you for as long as I can."

Amy narrowed her eyes and cocked her head. "You what?"

Stan sighed. "It's so weak of me, I know, but Amy, I need you. Now that Lucile and Samantha are both gone, I-"

"Lucile and Samantha, your wife and daughter, correct?"

"Yes."

"Just making sure I got everything right."

Stan sighed, and continued. "Amy, I love you. I will always love you. But the problem with this is, quite simply, you don't love me back, which makes everything that much harder. At least Samantha loved me. At least Lucile loved me. That was all I needed. Love is all I need. When you are loved, you have a purpose. Your purpose is to exist for that individual so that they never experience the pain you have endured for the majority of your life. So they never feel they are unwanted like you may have felt since your existence first was documented in the world. Your purpose is to love and to be loved, and hopefully to procreate. I'll never have that chance again, but it doesn't matter anymore. When someone loves you, especially if you love that someone back, the world is so much clearer and brighter and there isn't a darkness or haziness surrounding the world anymore."

There was a pause as Amy thought about what Stan had suggested: Stan was severely depressed. If he didn't have love, he'd rather have death. "So...then...why are you doing this?"

But Stan didn't seem to want to talk about it anymore. "Shut up, Amy."

Amy knew she'd have to pry. "I'd like an answer."

"Amy, please. Why don't you go back to sleep?"

"I wasn't sleeping last time, Stan. I was unconscious. And by the headache I have, I probably have a concussion, too."

Stan glared at Amy. "Amy: Shut. Up."

Amy winced slightly at his harsh tone, but recovered quickly, saying, "It won't hurt me if you tell me. For the first time, you wouldn't hurt me with your doings. I can't feel much pain."

Stan remained still and silent, as did Amy. Finally, after several minutes, Stan sighed. "I... I don't know. Not entirely, at least. I have this urge... this need to honor my father's dying wishes... my whole life is and has been ruled by that...that need to serve and obey my father or suffer the consequenses... and now I simply can't stop. I just can't. And even if I do... It would be like these last thirteen-fourteen years were wasted and my whole life is and was for nothing. Just like my father always told me."

Amy looked at her old friend and current captor and sighed. "Maybe it was. But you can't live in past. The present is what matters. And if they were his dying wishes... You can't really obey him if he isn't here to give you the orders."

Stan looked at Amy with a bittersweet anger, sadness, and affection in his eyes. "Just go to sleep already."

Amy frowned. "You and I both know that is impossible."

Stan sighed. "Some things never change, do they?"

Amy shook her head. "Nope."

Stan sighed again. "Then can you at least be quiet?"

Amy pursed her lips. "You don't want my company? Isn't that a first!"

"Not when you're asking questions about my personal life and everything, no!" Stan argued. "Now please, shut up!"

Amy felt hurt by Stan's tone and his not wanting her company. Deep down inside, she was beginning to need his company the way he needed hers, but she would never admit that, especially not to him. She didn't need his company in terms of love; she needed it in terms of friendship. Stan's friendship had been one of her most important and valuable friendships of her life, if not her most vital. He had been there for everything, including sleeping over whenever her mom was out late with her girlfriends. He'd been there on their vacations to the lakehouse in Michigan. He'd been the one that pushed her just a tad bit harder and therefore farther on the road to achieving her dreams. He'd introduced her to dance and been the one that taught her the harp, flute, and cello. He played violin and piano beautifully, but his voice and dancing ability were by far the best she knew. Stan's friendship meant everything to her because, as she realized it then and there, he had been the father she never had.

So, as she stared at him, slightly hurt by his building anger, she bit her lip and tried not to cry. And as per usual, she failed. The tears came anyway as she hung her head and brought her duct taped wrists to her face despite the pain in the one wrapped in the Ace bandage. She cried and cried, and eventually, Stan, realizing he had hurt her with his harsh tone, leaned over and pulled her closer, hugging her and holding her. He no longer asked her to be quiet or shut, he simply let her cry.

If anyone were to look at these two fragile beings from the outside of the car, they would instantly believe it was a father-daughter moment, no doubt the daughter crying over the loss of her mother. One would think that because Stan, normally stone-faced or laughing, was beginning to crack, several tears slipping down his face. However, he did not dare cry out loud, and when Amy finally pulled away, she never would have known he had cried.

Amy looked up at Stan, who began wiping away her tears with a gentle thumb, his soft, warm hand caressing her cold, wet cheeks. For once, Amy let him. It was futile to try to stop him now. He would always be faster and stronger, and Amy slower and weaker. However, he held one more advantage over her: the use of his legs. She'd never be able to kick him away or get up and run, so he'd always have the advantage.

Therefore, she let him caress her cheeks and brush his thumb against her lips. She let him lean forward and kiss her. She let him unbutton the red blouse no doubt he had changed her into. She let him slide her gently back to laying down. She let him unfasten her bra and slide it all the way to her wrists. She let him remove her skirt and panties. She let him remove his clothes (but that was a given, since she couldn't stop him from doing whatever he pleased with his own body besides hurting himself). She let him raise her arms and slip his head through them to avoid removing the duct tape on her wrists.

Just this once did she let him make love to her. She'd given up fighting him, because she knew he'd get what he wanted, one way or another.

And only once did she dare kiss back.


	12. Eleven

**Monday, November 19th, 2012 12:29 PM  
****The House of Stan Fields, Roanoke, VA**

Hotch stood with Mellissa and Peter in the kitchen as Prentiss and Morgan walked in and out of the room. The agent and the mother and son were staring at what the Carters called the alcohol "store" due to its amount, worth, and variety of alcoholic beverages. There was one spot missing.

"The bottle missing, what was that?" Hotch asked.

Peter narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips in concentration. "I do believe it was Uncle Stan's favorite Greek wine. What was it called now...um..."

Hotch narrowed his eyes. "Costa Lazaridi Oinotria Land?"

Peter's eyes lit up. "Yeah! He'd already finished off half the bottle-"

JJ walked in and heard this. "Meaning he drank the rest before ditching the car."

Mellissa turned to JJ. "What do you mean? And missing bottle? That would mean...he was here last night."

Hotch and JJ nodded. Hotch turned to Mellissa. "Your husband, Robert Carter, where is he?"

"Rob's out for lunch with some old friends from his childhood that came down from Maine, why?"

JJ turned to Hotch. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Hotch didn't answer her. "What does he do for a living?"

"He's a doctor. Why?"

JJ nodded with Hotch. "I think we need to talk to him."

"Talk to whom, and about what?" said a male British voice behind them.

Hotch and JJ turned to see a thin, pale, greying brunette man about 6'1" with grey-green eyes characteristic of the Carter family. He wore a red button-down shirt tucked into black suit pants with a black suit jacket, a black tie, black shoes, and gold-rimmed glasses. He carried a brown leather shoulder bag on his right shoulder, car keys in his left hand, and a newspaper in his right. This was Robert Carter.

Hotch stepped forward. "Robert Carter?"

The man nodded, setting down his bag and the paper on the table after hanging up his keys on the hook by the wall phone. "Rob, yes. What can I do for you? I'm only guessing you are part of the FBI."

Morgan appeared behind him. "We need to talk."

Rob turned around to look at him. "Well, I had a feeling you might say that. Why else would you be here? I take it this is in regards to my brother."

Mellissa's eyes widened. "You've known?!"

Rob sighed, placing his hands on his wife's shoulders and pecking her lips. "It's a long story, my love. A very, very long story that goes back at least eight generations to when Harrison Carter originally married Laura Fields trying to do the same thing we had to."

Mellissa closed her eyes. "Continue the family name."

Rob nodded. "More specifically, continue it incestuously. Like I said, it's a long story."

"We're going to need to hear it," Rossi said, coming up from the basement with Prentiss, carrying several evidence bags. "And we're going to need to hear a lot more than just that."

Rob nodded. "I suspected that much. What is it you need to know? I seem to be full of answers lately, and just last night gained more."

Mellissa stepped forward. "He was here last night?"

Rob rolled his eyes. "Mellissa, where else would he go after that accident? To be quite honest with you, I was about to refuse to help and call the cops, but naturally, I have a promise to my late father to look after my younger brother, so I had to. Just as he had to do several things he did. And our answers to why we did the things we did are very simple: What choice have I? What choice have we?"

"Which are?" Hotch asked.

Rob sighed. "It's another long story."

"Another one we need to hear," Morgan added.

Rob nodded. "Of course. Anything you wish to have you can pretty much get."

"It's the beauty of the American FBI," Mellissa muttered.

Rob looked at her. "No, my dear. That is the beauty of honesty and promises made to a dying man."

* * *

Hotch and JJ sat in front of Rob in the interrogation room, the evidence bags Rossi had brought up from the basement on the table in front of them.

"And so you went to bed?" JJ asked.

Rob nodded. "I wasn't going to stay up and think about the depressing things he had told me."

Hotch narrowed his eyes. "Now, Rob, you mentioned about a long story to do with your reasons for doing 'the things we did.' What were those things and what was the long story?"

Rob sighed. "Like I said, it's a long story. My father and his sister - my mum - were having trouble having children. Finally I was born on January 12th, 1953 and then six years later Stan was born on March 28th in the year 1959 -"

"Wait - there are records of Stan Fields being born October 26th, 1960," JJ interrupted.

Rob smiled. "Remember, he was born Stan Carter, not Stan Fields."

JJ nodded. "Right. Perfect way of creating a new identity."

Rob nodded in agreement. "Agreed. Including taking up a last name you were already familiar with. Anyways, when Stan was born, our father was incredibly annoyed, wishing to call him Lucifer for being the Devil's child. Stan was supposed to be a girl so we could continue the family name the way it had been for the past eight generations. However, that was not the case - and happily so - and our mum could no longer bear children, meaning we'd have to do the same thing that our family did eight generations before."

"Marry into other families," JJ said.

Rob nodded. "Exactly. Our father became a very angry and bitter man. It doesn't help he was a devout Catholic - we all were at the time - so all the blaming and accusations and eventually physically beating Stan and I for both being male were done in the name of God and I only learned last night that my father forced Stan to memorize the bible. It took him three years to do so, on top of school and other chores and all the abuse, but he did it. Stan never got to have any friends or have fun or anything. I didn't realize that he was as depressed as he was when I left the house and found Mellissa. I thought he was...stronger. More capable of doing what he felt was right. But I was mistaken. As soon as Mellissa and I were married, we fled back to Surrey, leaving Stan back home. When he was twenty, he met seventeen-year-old Lucile Deminger, they married not but a few years after, and Mellissa and I only flew down for two weeks before the wedding, leaving two days after their wedding day. I didn't think much of it then, but Stan did seem surprised to see me when I arrived with Mellissa, and he was even more surprised when I actually came for the wedding. Why he figured I wouldn't show up I didn't know until last night, but what can I say? He's my brother for God's sake! Of course I'm going to be there for him; we're a family. It doesn't help that when Lucile had Samantha, my father suddenly seemed very keen on taking care of the child, but Stan would hardly let her near him, and for good reasons. Mellissa had given birth to our son Peter in 1984 - you met him earlier - and my father didn't like the idea of Mellissa being with our son because it would mean that it would be her name continued and not the Carter name. But Stan finally did something right in our father's eyes, and so when Samantha was seven, Stan 37, our mum dead and our father dying, our father called his sons to his deathbed to have us make some last promises to him."

Rob paused.

Hotch looked at Rob in confusion. "What were these promises?"

Rob sighed. "My promise was easy: protect and take care of Stan. I was already a very successful doctor, so that was a given. If he ever needed the help, I could do so with ease. I promised my father I'd be there for Stan, and he told me to leave the room. Stan went in, and when he came back out he looked very shaken. He said 'Father passed away, and I swear I didn't do it,' and left it at that. I know he didn't kill our father - I myself was there for the autopsy that I asked be done to prove what he said. He died of the cancer he was suffering from. Plain and simple. There was no murder. Thankfully. However, after Stan left I followed him out to the terrace and found him with a beer in his hand, his eyes bloodshot and wet from crying. He never cried as a child nor drank, and Father would do unspeakable things to him in hopes of correcting the 'wrong' that had happened, or Stan's birth. I asked him what was wrong, and Stan simply replied, 'I have to do it. I don't want to, I never will, but I have to do it.' I asked him, 'Do what?' but he shook his head. I found out last night our father had asked him to kill his beloved wife Lucile and be with Samantha. And he did it. Granted, there were some Bible verses exchanged in the process, as well as quite a bit of swearing and shouting and verbal abuse, but in the end Stan had a promise to keep to a dead man and Stan is not one to break his promises. And when I was back in Surrey again, I got a few anonymous letters with newspaper clippings regarding Lucile's murder as well as the murders of the rest of our family and many of his friends. Also included were several clippings in regarding the missing persons of father Stan Carter and daughter Samantha Carter, and I knew, but wasn't too sure at the same time. I know Father had several...friends who wished to...help him get his way. They'd been successful several times before, but I wasn't too sure if Stan meant that he had to kill his wife, friends, and our family, or if one of those...friends had done it for him, and Stan was supposed to let them. I have a feeling Stan didn't kill them only because these people meant a lot to him, Lucile especially. I didn't hear from Stan again until recently, when he asked for Peter to come over here and help him recover from a supposed accident he'd been in. I agreed to fly over once I got a few things straightened out. When I arrived..." Rob shook his head. "I am aware of what happened - the case was on BBC as well as CNN and all the other American shows and channels and all...that. However, I wasn't aware of how...strange Stan was going to be acting and looking and all. He seemed so distant from everything and everyone. He was spending long hours in his room or in the basement, but whenever there was anything to do with Amy Nickhoales on TV he was instantly downstairs and in the recliner until the show ended, then he would normally be heading into the shower. Then back up to his room he'd go until supper..." Rob shook his head. "At one point I had to take him for a walk and got him to tell me most of what had happened." Rob shook his head again. "You know, I've heard that man's voice when he was in love with Lucile, and it was the same voice I heard when he talked about Amy, simply older and softer due to age and his injuries. I couldn't believe he was convinced he'd killed Lucile and everyone when he clearly had no memory of doing so. He couldn't even say how he killed them."

Hotch and JJ exchanged looks. "So...you're saying he couldn't have killed them?"

Rob nodded. "Stan may make promises, but he doesn't do something he's uncomfortable doing. He would have been beyond uncomfortable killing his loved ones. I understand he was a close friend of Amy and her family, but they weren't related, so it wasn't that hard for him to do so. The one thing he did manage to tell me, though, is he never uses a knife. His only explanation as to why was 'Personal reasons.'"

"But...he did," JJ said. "We have the evidence-"

"I know, I understand, but that was the only time," Rob clarified. "I have a feeling I know why he will never use knives for anything like that, and why he only used one on Rebecca Galante."

"Oh?" Hotch asked.

Rob sighed and nodded sadly. "Rebecca Galante...at one point was supposed to become my adopted daughter. I know the majority of the family he is credited with killing - Lucile included - were stabbed to death. He wanted to keep it consistent. Rebecca was going to become Mellissa and my daughter, but then there were some...complications with forms and she was sent to another family, and we were denied adoption."

Hotch and JJ exchanged controlled shocked looks. He was correct; the forms had shown up in Rebecca's records.

Rob continued. "However, what really matters is that last week he decided to go out for once. He told Mellissa and Peter he was going to a convention of some sort, but all he told me was, 'It's time.' He left, and then what happened happened. And then last night..." Rob stopped talking and bit his lip.

Hotch leaned onto the table a little. "Robert, what happened last night?"

Rob quite suddenly looked up at Hotch, his eyes wide with anger. "Do not ever call me that again. I refuse to be called by the name my father-" Rob suddenly calmed down, his fists clenched so hard he was white-knuckled. He unclenched his fists quite suddenly, his nails tainted red. He clasped his hands together instantly, hoping to staunch the blood flow. Rob closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I apologize. It has been a good nine years since I was last called that, and before that, much longer. I hate it. My own name has become a source of mockery. Please. It's Rob. No one ever calls me Robert, nor do I ever introduce myself as Dr. Robert Carter; it's always Dr. Rob Carter." He carefully opened his hands and sighed again. "Naturally I clench hard enough...Goddammit-oh, dear Lord forgive me."

Hotch and JJ exchanged more looks. "It's alright, Rob. Let's get back to the matter on hand. What happened last night?"

Rob sighed. "A lot in a surprisingly short period of time. I was going to bed early, and was...not going to go into details, but then the phone rings. I go downstairs, answer, and what do you know, it's my idiot little brother. He just about orders me to get outside after getting dressed, telling me to bring my medical bag, so fifteen minutes later I'm inside the car and the first thing I notice is he has a giant cut on the side of his head. Suddenly I'm the mum and he's the little boy who's fallen from his bike, except this time it wasn't a bike and this time it wasn't a simple scrape that needed a good washing, ointment, a band-aid, and a kiss. That cut alone required ten stitches. I finally convince him to let me look at Amy, who's unconscious in the back seat, but it's too dark to see so I tell him I need to get her into the house - the basement being the only place with good enough lighting and a place to actually lay her - so we do. I...this is why my brother's an idiot, and a weak one to boot: I start to take off her coat to examine all her possibilities injuries and well, there's not shirt, no bra, nothing to even attempt covering up the fact that he fucked her. I bring this up and he simply looks away and says something like, 'I know, but she's beautiful, no?' Which gets us into an argument and I learn he's almost attempted suicide before, and had it not been for Lucile and Samantha he would have actually attempted and no doubt succeeded... There were many revelations last night, and that will seem like a pun soon but it isn't. He revealed to me what had happened that night when our father died. Our father had asked him to kill Lucile and other family and be with Samantha. Stan responded with the fifth Commandment - 'Thou shalt not kill,' and our father turns it against him, saying, 'Yes, but thou shalt honor thy father.' Stan, being weak and pressured, submitted. Luke 1:38."

JJ sighed. "Where's Reid when you need him?"

Hotch chuckled, seeing how JJ was trying to lighten the mood. "In the hospital. However, I happen to know that it's Mary's acceptance of Jesus."

Rob nodded. "'Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be according to your word.'"

Hotch and JJ nodded. "What else happened last night?"

"Well, he revealed how depressed he is - and you really would _never_ guess it - and how he's almost commit suicide. He also informed me that our father used Catholicism against him."

"How so?"

"He said, and I quote, 'When your father shouts at you that he wished you were never born or born the opposite gender and beats you for it every day and uses your religion against you, claiming the all-loving Heavenly Father finds it unbelievable that you were born and that He wants you to either die or do the right thing for the family,' and then he makes comments about my leaving and how that hurt him. But my father forced him to memorize the Bible, even though Stan would have done that anyways to try to impress him, to try to make our father see he is worth something..." Rob closed his eyes. "You know, my father never got to see just how talented Stan really is. He forced him to give up his dreams and what he is good at just to supposedly honor the family. This is all my father's fault indirectly, yes, but had Stan been strong enough to resist and say no, it would be a completely different story. So it's Stan's fault too." Rob sighed. "Anyways, I hit a touchy subject, he got a little upset, but then I was removing Amy's pants to assess any damage there, and I mention his lack of restraint, he looks over, sees the evidence staring him in the face, goes off to shower, so I finish assessing Amy. She needed a total of twenty seven stitches, seven of them on one wound on her face I am almost positive was from a ring of some sort. I gave her the stitches she needed, noticed she also most likely had a concussion - I do believe Stan caused that, though, with the way he went on about having hurt her and never doing that again - and was dressing her in clothes of Mellissa's that were too small for my wife when Stan returned limping. He put the blouse on her, took the pair of shoes I handed him and put those on her as well, then I forced him to sit so I could figure out why he was limping. Permanent knee damage from January 4th, 2011. I finished looking at his wounds, set him off on the road to recovery, and decided I'd sleep on my decision to finally tell you everything I've known for all this time. And now Stan will probably want to kill me but it's a risk that's worth taking when a life that young and valuable is on the line. I just wish I'd seen that sooner with Stan and gotten him out of the house with me when I left. I myself am to blame, having been the only one in his childhood that seemed to care." Rob sighed. "And that is everything I can possibly tell you about last night without going word for word verbatim, which I cannot do anyways, so yeah. Anything else you wish to hear?"

Hotch looked at JJ. "I think we have enough to work with for now. We'll know where to find you if we need anything more."

Rob nodded. "Either prison or the house, correct?"

Hotch chuckled. "It'll be the house."

Rob smiled. "Thanks. Now, do you have anything I can wrap my hands in? I dug my nails into my palms earlier when I nearly exploded at you for calling me Robert. It's all part of being bipolar and having to skip the medication because when I normally would have taken it today, I'm here."

JJ nodded. "Of course. Wait right here."

Rob looked around him. "I wasn't planning on going anywhere." He started to wink, then pursed his lips and turned it into a narrowing of the eyes then a smile."

JJ smiled back and left the interrogation room with Hotch. Morgan waved the two agents over. They stepped inside and observed Rob through the one-way mirror.

Morgan shrugged. "So?"

Hotch sighed, rolling his shoulders. "It's a lot of information to sift through."

Morgan nodded. "I just hope it all ends up being helpful."

Suddenly Rob's cell phone started ringing, and he quickly took it from his pocket. "Dr. Rob Carter speaking. Stan? What the hell-what do you mean, where am I?! Where the hell do you think I am?! No, not prison. Lord, bastard, where the hell are _you_ is the better question! You're _what_?! Stan, whatever you do, do_ not step foot into that_-" Rob closed his eyes and pulled the phone from his ear, snapping it closed and slamming it on the table. "Damn you, asshole."

Hotch was already back inside the interrogation room. "What just happened?"

Rob shook his head. "My bastard of a brother just pulled another stunt. You might want to check on your agent in the hospital as well as Domonick Nickhoales. Stan just informed me he's already inside the building. And I have a feeling I don't like what he's about to do."


	13. Twelve

**Monday, November 19th, 2012 2:47 PM  
Potomac Valley Hospital, Keyser, WV**

Amy squeezed her eyes tight as she fought against the pain in her wrists, which had been secured behind her head...somewhere, duct tape slapped across her mouth, the blanket tossed over her again. She was freezing, as Stan had not even bothered to put her clothes back on, instead rolling them into a ball and slipping them under her head.

She knew where she was. Stan had informed her of the exact location. She was trapped in the car, yes, right in front of the hospital in which Reid and Domonick were being treated in. Amy also knew what Stan planned to do. He didn't want to kill, he only wanted to abduct. And Amy could only pray he would fail to do both.

Suddenly, fifteen minutes after Stan had stormed into the building in a rather successful janitor disguise (she could only guess that it had been used in other places), there were sirens from police, and shortly after that there was gunfire. Four rounds sounded different from those by the police, but Amy couldn't be sure, as there were probably several different firearms being used besides Stan's. It didn't matter much to Amy: she screamed anyways, but unfortunately it was muffled by the duct tape (but not much). Almost as suddenly Stan was shoving two people into the back seat of the car, getting into the driver's seat after firing another few rounds. He took off, slamming his foot on the gas.

"Careful! You don't want to cause another accident!" Reid said hoarsely, as if he had only just regained consciousness.

"Do not warn me of anything, Dr. Reid!" Stan ordered in rage, banking hard to the right.

Someone groaned, and instantly cried out in pain. Amy suddenly had a foot in her face. She struggled to move her face away from the foot, but it wasn't working; the foot kept finding her face.

Reid must have noticed her movement, as he said, "Dom, be careful. Amy's on the floor, and her face is by your foot."

There was another cry of pain as Stan swerved to the left, then Domonick gasped, "I'm so sorry, Amy!" He reached down and pulled the blanket from her face, eyes widening in the shock of seeing her duct tape bindings. "Good God!" He instantly removed the tape on her mouth and started to remove the tape on her wrists before suddenly crying out in pain again.

Reid sighed. "Here. Switch sides with me. I'll get to it."

Dom simply nodded weakly, wincing as Reid crossed over him and Dom slid to the left where Reid had been seated.

Reid instantly bent down and started working on Amy's bindings, hiding his pain. She found herself resisting the urge to tell him what had happened not hours before, how Stan had tricked her into believing she was in a forest at night when really she was in an old prop-house and it wasn't even three in the afternoon yet, how Stan had raped her again, but what kept her silent was the fact that she knew she hadn't stopped Stan, and instead had encouraged it by kissing him back once. As soon as Reid had her free she was pulling the blanket around her and shivering madly. That alone said everything. Reid nodded and scooped her off the cold car floor before sitting on it himself, having Dom lay on the back seat. Reid carefully held Amy close, and she held onto him in return, terrified of what could happen next. Stan was becoming unpredictable, acting on careful impulse.

The sound of sirens followed them for fifteen miles.

The only reason it stopped was because Stan had tricked the authorities by causing a dust cloud in front of a fork in the road then "taking a hike" through the forest nearby, leaving not a trace of where they had gone.

Reid had managed to hand her the clothes Stan had folded into a pillow, and she had wrapped the blanket around her in a toga-fashion, as the skirt was just about impossible to put on herself, and Reid seemed uncomfortable helping her. She stayed in his lap, however, and the two had made small-talk. She learned of his and Domonick's injuries (he had regained consciousness not but fifteen minutes before Stan had arrived), and she also learned that Garcia would probably be in the hospital for a while, as Stan had shot her in the leg so she couldn't prevent him from doing what he desired. The strange thing was, no one seemed to have wanted to stop Stan, meaning his disguise and American accent must have been a success. Had it not been for the phone call he made to his brother, the police would never have arrived until after Stan left with his precious cargo.

After another few miles in the forest, Stan stopped the car and pulled the key from the ignition. He removed his wig and faux coke-bottle glasses, removing the janitor jumpsuit to reveal his black jeans and black military-style button-down shirt, his toned physique very evident through the dark clothing. For a man his age, he was rather attractive, something Amy hated to admit but was forced to.

For several moments, Stan remained perfectly still, eyes closed, head slightly bowed. From the angle Amy was looking at him, she could almost swear she saw his hands folded in prayer. _Stan...praying? Impossible...no...not impossible,_ Amy thought as Stan lifted his head and made the sign of the cross. He really _had_ been praying.

"Father, why?" Stan muttered. "You- no, 'thou shalt honor thy Father'..." Stan sighed. "Lucile...I've failed you, I'm sorry. 'Till death do us part', sure, but no one said..." Stan sighed again, rubbing his face with his hands before turning to face the three of them. "Well, it'll probably be just the three of us for a while."

Amy shied away from Stan's extended hand, Reid wrapping his arms around her protectively.

Stan closed his eyes and sighed. "Come on, Amy. You're coming into the front seat again."

Amy shook her head, choosing to remain silent.

Stan blinked, unamused. "Come _on_, Amy."

Amy remained put, shying away further as Stan rolled his eyes and grabbed her Ace bandage-wrapped wrist. She yelped in pain as he pulled her into the front seat and buckled her in. He began to reach for her face but she pushed herself against the door and tried to hit his hand away, but he gently grabbed her hand and pulled her closer, wrapping her in a hug before tilting her chin up and kissing her lips gently. She pulled away, pushing him slightly and trying to get as far away as she could.

"Amy, what's wrong?" Stan asked, concerned. "You weren't like this before."

"You didn't hit me hard enough to knock me out before," Amy muttered.

Stan closed his eyes and nodded. "I see."

"To add to that," Amy added, "you also bound and gagged me with duct tape."

"Is that what is really bothering you?" Stan asked.

"Two of the many things," Amy said, crossing her arms and leaning against the car door as Stan released her from his embrace.

"What are the others?" Stan asked, opening his grey-green eyes. He seemed very interested in helping her feel more comfortable.

Amy remained silent, blinking twice.

Stan understood. "Oh," he said, looking away. "Right."

Amy turned away, looking out the windshield. "Exactly. It needs to stop. Now."

Stan turned himself back to face her again. "But, not two hours ago-"

"Stop! Now! Please! I don't want to talk about it!" Amy cried. "I'm done, Stan! I'm completely done. I don't want to talk about it anymore, I don't want to be subject to it anymore, I'm done. Please."

Stan remained silent. Curious, Amy turned to look at her former friend to find him wincing from her words, wounded by her harshness.

Amy sighed, wanting to slap herself. "Stan, look: You're scaring me. Nothing scares me much anymore, but you are seriously scaring me. I no longer know what you are going to do. I used to be able to predict your actions, but now I can't. You aren't whom you used to be. I...I want that old Stan Fields back. That's all. I want the friend I loved like a father, the one I never really had. And...and I know..." Amy stopped. She had to address it. "Okay, I know I kissed you back that once, but it was a vain attempt to get you to stop. I'm done fighting because I know I can't do anything to prevent anyone from doing anything to me anymore. The paralysis prevents more than just walking, but fighting and running away. So I figured that...by changing tactics I'd get you to stop. Instead, it backfired."

Stan looked away from Amy as she finished her speach. Amy glanced over at Reid and Dom, who were exchanging shocked expressions, and quickly looked away, focusing on Stan again.

But Stan was _much_ faster.


	14. Thirteen

**Author's Note:**

**Okay, so I was planning to have a chapter before this one with the team to add suspense to this part, BUT there's been a slight change in plans! This one needed to be out IMMEDIATELY.**

**Hope this turns out to be pretty good!**

* * *

**Monday, November 19****th****, 2012  
Unknown**

Stan was instantly pulling Amy closer to him by her hair then pushing her against the passenger door.

"Stay put, and be quiet!" Stan whispered.

Amy was frightened and confused, a deadly combination for her. "But-"

"I said SHUSH!"

Amy jumped back a tiny bit, pressing herself against the door to the point she was almost a part of it.

Stan sighed and opened the driver's side door as five men approached from a hiking path. The men were definitely older than Stan, but each seemed much more muscular than him. They were also taller than him, which was what truly frightened Amy, as Stan was already 6'4".

One man, the tallest and most muscular, came up to Stan and wrapped his arm around his shoulders. "Hey Stanley! Long time no see!"

Stan seemed nervous about being so close to the man. "Yeah, Jackson, long time no see."

"What brings you to our neck of the woods?" Jackson laughed at the pun.

Stan laughed nervously with him. "Nothing really…"

"Escaping the fuzz? I should have known," Jackson said, looking at the car. He smiled at Amy, who shied from his intimidating grey eyes and bright white, perfect teeth. Jackson turned his gaze to Stan. "Your father warned me that you'd turn out to be this way. This…worthless and…well, you get the idea. I just didn't expect to have to try and fix it all…"

Stan suddenly ducked under Jackson's arm as his right foot sailed to Jackson's lower back, forcing the man to buckle over, grabbing his lower back.

"Get him!" Jackson cried, and the other four men instantly lunged at Stan.

Amy watched as the men fought, feeling suddenly very sorry for Stan as he was overpowered by the five men. Finally Jackson landed a would-be crushing blow to Stan's shoulder, causing Amy to scream.

"Stop! Please!" Amy found herself screaming. She didn't care anymore that Stan had hurt her; she didn't want to see anyone getting hurt.

Instantly all eyes in the area were on her: Reid's, Dom's, Stan's, Jackson's, and the other four men's.

Jackson turned to Stan, who was restrained by the other four men quickly. "Who is she?"

Stan fought against the men slightly, but Jackson kicked him in the right knee, causing him to try to muffle a cry of pain. "No one!"

Jackson rolled his eyes. "She's obviously someone, otherwise you wouldn't have her with you."

Stan sighed, hanging his head. "Amy Nickhoales."

Jackson raised his eyebrows as he looked back at her. "Really now…?"

Stan reluctantly nodded his head. "Yes."

Jackson smiled. "Fantastic." He turned to the four men holding Stan back. "Larry, Neil, restrain him. Walter, Frank, come with me."

Amy pressed herself against the car door as Jackson, Walter, and Frank walked over to the car.

Stan fought against Larry and Neil to stop Jackson, Walter, and Frank, but Neil and Larry held fast. Stan resorted to crying, "No! Please! Don't hurt her! She's just a child!"

"And so were you once," Jackson called as he opened the driver's side door. He smiled at Amy. "Hello Amy. Why don't you come with me?"

Amy shook her head timidly, mustering up her strength to say, "You go to Hell."

Reid and Dom looked at her in surprise. She was one for gentle terms, not aggressive things like that.

But Jackson simply smiled more, then reached for Amy's arm, but she ducked away as he made to grab her. He growled, growing aggravated, then dove for her again as the passenger door opened and Walter and Frank took her under the arms and pulled her out of the car.

Amy screamed. "Let me go!"

Jackson laughed. "Struggling is pointless, child, so don't even try. We always get what we want. Whether it be through murder or other acts of violence, we always get what we want."

"What is it that you want?" Amy asked as Jackson seized her throat.

"Stan to learn a lesson," Jackson said, squeezing lightly.

"What lesson must I learn?! Consider it learned! Don't hurt her, please!" Stan cried. "She's been hurt enough!"

But Jackson only smiled as he hoisted Amy higher, pressing her body against a tree. "You don't learn it until after I finish. That is the only rule." With that, he dropped Amy to the ground.

Instantly, she gasped for breath. Her weary lungs seemed unable to get enough of the precious air around her. However, it wasn't their fault. As soon as she hit the ground she had a foot jammed in her stomach, casting the breath from her body. She struggled to breathe again, but the foot moved and jammed itself in her stomach again, over and over again until finally there was the sound of ribs cracking. Jackson's face was a blur, but Amy knew he was smiling at her as he bent down to inspect the damage done. Not seeming satisfied, he grabbed the Ace-bandaged wrist and squeezed it until it snapped in his hand, causing Amy to gasp, unable to scream due to the lack of air in her lungs. Blood trickled from her wrist, the Ace bandage preventing the blood to be spilled everywhere. However, a small red dot was growing fast, and the Ace bandage itself seemed a bit oddly shaped. Amy knew then and there her wrist was fracture to the point her bone was sticking out of her skin. This thought made her want to retch terribly, but she restrained herself, swallowing instead.

Jackson still wasn't satisfied, so he settled with landing blow after blow to her head and shoulders, then picked her up by the neck and slammed her body against the tree again. A sickening crack ricocheted off the trees, and Stan's eyes began to water as Amy felt blood seep from her head.

Jackson still wasn't satisfied. He wrapped his hand around his throat and squeezed, cutting off her airways. Amy's vision flashed red and grew darker and blurry. Soon all she could see was Jackson's smiling face as her vision tunneled, her hearing slowly tunneling, growing cave-like. She could barely hear Jackson laughing and Stan screaming for him to let her go and kill him instead. She could hear Dom and Reid calling from the car for Jackson to stop.

"Please," she managed to whisper. "Do it."

Jackson's laughter stopped instantly, his eyes widening and jaw dropping. He released his grip on her, catching her as she fell. She didn't want to breathe the way her body did. She was done. Five men wished her dead. One additional man had almost killed her. Twice. Why hadn't Jackson simply killed her?

"You…_want_ to die?" Jackson asked, staring into her brown eyes as she coughed and gasped for breath. As she coughed blood splattered on his face. _Great, internal bleeding_, Amy thought.

She nodded. "Why didn't you kill me?"

Jackson narrowed his eyes. "Because you want to die." With that, he slammed her to the ground and unbuckled his belt and undid his pants.

Amy closed her eyes, submitting. What she wasn't prepared for was the brutality of his rape, and the joining in of Walter and Frank. Granted, she felt nothing down there, but she saw the reddened spots on their skin and clothes and knew they were mutilating her.

Finally, they stopped. Jackson snapped his fingers, and Larry and Neil pushed Stan away from them, sending him to the ground. He grunted painfully, but he managed to limp over to Amy and hold her close. She whimpered in his arms, for once grateful that he was holding her.

Jackson smiled vilely. "The lesson, Stan, is this: Get the fuck out of this area and STAY OUT."  
Stan nodded, holding Amy close.

Jackson snapped his fingers, and he, Larry, Neil, Walter, and Frank turned and left the area, vanishing in the trees.

Stan instantly looked at Amy and squeezed his eyes shut. "Oh my God Amy I am so sorry."

Amy raised a shaky arm and put her right hand on his face despite the pain it caused her. She looked at him sadly as he opened his eyes, and Amy knew from the look of regret in his eyes he loved her. The pain in her heart that came from that was worse than the pain in her body.

"I need to get you out of here. You need help," Stan said, struggling to stand with her in his arms.

"So…do…you," Amy wheezed, coughing up more blood.

Stan looked at her with tears in his eyes. "Amy, you're dying on me. I promised myself I wouldn't let you die unless I died with or before you. You can't die on me now."

Amy closed her eyes sadly as he struggled to the car, having Reid move over so he could lower the passenger seat for Amy to lay on. As soon as the doors were closed, Stan folded his arms over the steering wheel and leaned forward. From the way his body shook, Amy knew he was crying. It wasn't from his pain, and it wasn't because he'd almost been caught. It was because she'd been hurt. It was because she'd nearly died. It was because she'd been hurt and nearly died, and it was all his fault.


	15. Fourteen

**Author's Note:**

_**WARNING: GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION IN THIS CHAPTER.**_

**Okay, this chapter made me change the rating of the entire series. Sorry everyone!**

**You'll also notice the titles have changed some. I added what book they were to the title so those continuing the series knew what book to go to next. I will also be adding a link to the next book at the end of each of the first three.**

**Hope this helps!**

* * *

_Amy was sitting at the computer, playing her millionth game of chess versus the computer on the hardest difficulty (and writing in that dreaded journal), when Stan suddenly opened her door and closed it behind him. Something seemed wrong with the way he had simply entered her room the way he did. It wasn't...normal of him._

_"Something up?" Amy asked nonchalantly, not really looking at him._

_Stan simply smiled and sat on her bed, patting the area on the mattress next to him. "I need to tell you something."_

_Amy quickly decimated the computer player, then turned off the computer before walking over slowly and sitting as far away as possible from him. "Like what?"_

_Stan didn't seem to like their distance, as he slid over closer and wrapped his arm around her waist, his hand fiddling with the hem of the short skirt she wore. "You look...simply ravishing in this skirt."_

_Amy glared at him. "To the point, Stan."_

_Stan sighed, placing his hand on her leg. "Amy my dear, I'm going to be leaving for the day, and I figured we ought to make the most of our time together before I left."_

_Amy didn't like what he was implying. "What do you mean?"_

_Stan sighed. "I mean we may need to re-order our schedule some."_

_"How so?" Amy's heart skipped a beat as her blood ran cold._

_"As in moving our love session from in an hour...to now," Stan said, and before Amy knew it, he was pushing her to the bed and kissing her. Amy fought against him but he quickly grabbed her wrists and held them flat against the bed that creaked beneath their weight and movement. Eventually Amy found Stan straddling her shoulders and, as he removed his clothing, shoving himself in her mouth. This was unlike him, and her eyes bugged out in fear. She didn't like the choking feeling nor the feeling of his cum flowing into her mouth and down her throat. Her mouth was too small for this. This was worse than being gagged: she could hardly breathe and wanted to throw up terribly._

_After a while, he was shivering, and so he removed himself from her mouth and quickly slipped off her skirt and red panties to slip himself inside her...she pulled away slightly at this but he simply slipped in further and laid himself on top of her, removing her tank top and carefully unfastening her bra. The two were stark naked, so it was only natural the two were shivering in the icy cold of her room. Stan knew that if he stayed in that room any longer his joints would lock up on him and he wouldn't be able to move. So he carefully pressed Amy's body against his while keeping himself inside her, wrapping a blanket from her bed around them, and headed to his room where it would be nice and warm._

_As soon as they were on the bed Stan was fastening her wrists to the loop on the headboard with the belt he always used and went back to raping her. After about an hour, he removed himself from her only to go to her feet and begin kissing her entire body. Feet, then shins, then thighs, then he actually did kiss her down there (which was another first), then her waist, then her stomach, then her breasts (he lingered here, tenderly groping them and kissing and sucking on them before biting them ever so slightly; these were his favorites besides her lips), then her chest, then her neck and throat (here he stopped and bit a tiny bite before licking the spot and kissing it again), then her chin, then her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, her head, her ears (each of which received licks and bites; it was almost as if Amy was his lollipop), then finally kissed her lips, coiling his tongue around hers and swirling it around in her mouth as he kissed her. Amy closed her eyes in disgust as he repositioned himself on her shoulders and inserted himself back in her mouth. She didn't want to hurt him with her teeth, but she wanted to breathe. It was nearly impossible to breathe with him giving her a "blow job" as kids at school would have called it. Amy called it cruelty and sexual suffocation._

_Eventually Stan seemed to have had enough of that, so he removed himself from her mouth only to re-insert himself inside her and, while he proceeded to rape her that way, began fondling her breasts again, then trailed his right hand down to her hips and stroked that general area as he kissed and sucked on her breasts. Eventually he went back to kissing her mouth and simply groping her breasts and hips._

_Hours later, Stan finally sat up, still inside her, and stared at her face, the usual youth in his faint smile and features. "Amy..." he whispered, laying back down next to her and wrapping his arm around her._

_Amy couldn't speak. The amount of his cum still in her mouth was unbelievable and extremely grotesque. She could hardly swallow. He'd been so rough and obviously so terrifyingly aroused this time._

_Stan didn't seem to care as he cuddled up next to her, resting his head on her left shoulder. "You're so warm and soft, Amy..."_

_"You're despicable," Amy choked out, her voice contorted by the fluid in her mouth and throat._

_Stan closed his eyes and smiled. "But at least I'm right."_

_Amy closed her eyes and frowned before opening them again and staring up at the ceiling._

_Stan eventually sighed and, leaning on his elbow, said, "Amy..."_

_"What?" Her voice was still garbled, but clearing some as the liquid trailed down her throat. She was soon able to swallow again, and with that, she did._

_Stan sighed. "I could easily just leave you here, tied like this, so that when I return, we can continue and I can spend more time with you."_

_Amy was shocked at this suggestion. "What?!" Her voice was shrill with fear, clearing up more._

_Stan smiled. "You wouldn't want me when I returned?" he asked, walking his pointer and middle finger up her chest along her breastbone before lightly tapping her nose._

_"No."_

_Stan's smile vanished. "No?" His voice was hard and unwelcoming._

_"Not after what you've done now."_

_"Oh come on, Amy, it was an experiment."_

_"And you make me your guinea pig?!" She struggled to face him, but she finally managed._

_"There's no one else here that I love enough to express it properly!" Stan shouted. "Mrs. Meyes-"_

_"Wait- you've done this to Mrs. Meyes?!"_

_"To get ready for you, my dear."_

_Amy couldn't believe it. They'd told her he never even touched them, and Stan had said the same. Now both had lied to her, and for what? "So you _lied_ to me?!"_

_"I don't know what you mean," Stan asked, seemingly clueless._

_"You told me when I got here and saw them here you never hurt them. You _LIED _to me!"_

_Stan closed his eyes and said, "First I'm a bastard, now I'm a liar... Widen your vocabulary, young lady. If you're going to call me something, do it with dignity and creativity, or call me by my rightful name."_

_Amy narrowed her eyes and frowned. "Your presence makes it next to impossible to think clearly and creatively."_

_Stan smiled. "Well, I must make you think of something."_

_"I hate you."_

_Stan's eyes flew open wide. He obviously wasn't expecting that. "You...what?"_

_"I said I hate you."_

_Stan sighed. "I should have expected that," he said, sounding slightly depressed._

_With that, he sat up and got off the bed, walking over to his dresser. He slipped on clean briefs and black jeans along with a black army-style button-down shirt that he tucked in and rolled up the sleeves to his elbows. He also wore a brown leather belt similar to the one Amy's wrists were wrapped in, but more…stylish and new, not having been bent unusually and used on tiny wrists. He casually leaned over the bed and kissed her lips before pulling the sheets over her._

_"I'll be back tomorrow," he said, kissing her again._

_"Wait- you're leaving me here? Like this?!" Amy cried._

_Stan laughed. "For a response like 'I hate you,' you'll be lucky if you ever leave this room again!"_

_Tears streamed down her face. That was the last thing she ever wanted. "Please..." she whimpered, "Don't do this to me."_

_But Stan shook his head adamantly, his left hand on the doorknob, keys clenched in his right. "I'm sorry Amy, but you need to learn something from this." With that, he opened the door and left the room._

_The click of the lock was the last straw: Amy began bawling her eyes out. How could he? He was never like this. He was never aggressive nor cruel to her, always listening if she was speaking. His actions simply didn't make sense. What were his intents? Why was he leaving, and what was he doing out in...wherever he was going?_

_Amy stopped crying – hours later - as the sound of someone approaching the door. The key was crudely shoved in the lock, the doorknob turned, and then the door opened._

_But the man…wasn't Stan._

_He was huge. A freaking wardrobe of muscle. His brown hair was cut in a crew cut, and his eyes were shielded by dark sunglasses. He came over to her and carefully undid the belt around her wrists._

_"Who are you?" Amy asked._

_He shook his head, saying, "_Je ne parle pas l'anglais."

_Amy nodded. "Oh. Then: _Je vous remercie._"_

_He nodded, handing her the top blanket (which had been the one Stan had wrapped around them originally on their way to his bedroom), which she wrapped around herself as she struggled to stand. He sighed and picked her up, carrying her back to her room and laying her on the bed. As soon as he was sure she wasn't going to try to escape (or at least that was what she figured from his actions whenever she tried and failed to move without pain), he nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him. Amy listened to hear if he locked it, but he didn't, so she sighed, relieved Stan still let her have that luxury of being free to move throughout the house…in a way. There were still those locked doors and only one window, as far as she had found, so she wasn't given completely free-reign. But she was thankful for what freedom she did have, and used it wisely._

_After fifteen minutes, she sat up slowly, her crotch still in intense pain. She knew she had to try to walk some of it off (it was the only way that worked for her), but this was more pain than she was used to. She decided to finish writing her journal entry, not bothering to write about the love session only because she was too scared to. Once she was finished, she shut the journal and put it back in its hiding place between the matress and boxspring._

_"How long did that love session last?" Amy wondered aloud, knowing no one would be able to answer her._

_No one that was there at the moment, at least. She knew Stan would never tell her, so she'd have to figure it out for herself. She slowly and stiffly put on clean, less revealing clothes before slowly hobbling around the house to the room with the window. From what she could see of the white, overcast sky, it was nearly impossible to tell what time it was. For all she knew, it could be noon, or it could very well be dawn. She didn't know, and probably never would, considering all clocks were set to different times just to throw her off. She didn't know which clock to go by. And Stan had taken away her iPod again. She had a feeling that this time, she wouldn't be getting it back. That had the most accurate time in the entire house, and Stan didn't seem to know how to use the touchscreen device itself, let alone change the time._

_Amy sighed as she left the room, pacing throughout the house. She simply kept pacing, knowing the pain would go away eventually, as long as she continued to move. Knowing this, she decided she might as well dance, as that would serve a double purpose: it would calm her, and it would help her pain go away. Sighing again, she walked back to her room less stiffly than before, taking out a blue leotard and long white skirt with a red mesh under-layer that made it look slightly pink from her costume bin, the outfit that would have been her costume for that year's dance recital. She quickly changed into that and a pair of white tights, then grabbed her ballet slippers and walked down to the basement, where she knew her stage was waiting._

_As soon as she had put on her slippers and stretched, she rose onto her toes and gracefully fluttered across the small stage, twirling and pirouetting, never letting herself stop moving. If her feet weren't moving, it was her arms. All she did was dance to music no one else could hear but her. Soon her pain was gone, but she was no longer dancing to remove pain. She was dancing because she could, because she liked to, because it was all she had._

_And as she danced, Mrs. Meyes and Cameron came to watch, Mr. Bronsky soon joining them. When she finally stopped, the three clapped, and she curtsied, smiling sadly. Mrs. Meyes knew then and there what had happened; Amy knew her teacher knew thanks to the fact that Mrs. Meyes got up and hugged her close, whispering reassuring things to her..._

* * *

_"Amy? Amy?"_

The bright, blurry world spun around her. Where was she? What was going on? Wasn't she-

_"Amy?!"_

The voices calling her name sounded far away, but the silhouettes of three men hovered above her. Concern was heard in their whispery voices as they called her name.

"Amy!"

"Unhghhh..." Amy moaned, the pain suddenly shooting up her limbs and swallowing her head. She let out a muted scream as someone touched her in what was supposed to be a gentle way.

"Sorry!" the person cried, crying out in pain themself.

"What in the world did you give her?!" a voice cried, their tone accusatory and harsh.

"Just some pain medication my brother gave me! I have no idea what it was, but evidently it was a lot stronger than I thought."

That voice. She had just heard it not too long ago. _Stan_. She shied away from the direction of the voice, but another muted scream escaped her lips.

"And so you give it to her anyways?!"

That one..._Reid_. But then the third person...who could that be?

Suddenly Amy was writhing in pain, trying desperately not to scream. The weight of the world was suddenly on her right hip.

"Oh God Amy I'm so sorry!" Stan cried. "I'm just trying to stop the bleeding."

Amy nodded weakly, her breathing sharp and quick.

Someone gently grasped her hand, shushing her gently. "Everything will be alright, Amy. Hush. It's alright. It's alright. Everything is alright. Relax. Shhhh."

"Dom?" she managed to whisper.

Her brother's face was the first of the three to clear a tiny bit. He smiled. "I'm right here."

"Who's...where?"

Dom looked to her right. "At your right hip is Stan, and the one that one stop moving is Spencer. He's pretty pissed."

Amy closed her eyes, her breathing slowly returning to normal. "I would think so."

"You gave her _this_?!" Reid suddenly exclaimed, holding something up. It was too blurry for Amy to see.

"...yes," Stan answered.

"THESE ARE OPIATES!" Reid shouted.

Stan cowered away from him, leaning closer to Amy's head. "I only gave her one! I didn't know how strong they were!"

"THESE COULD HAVE FUCKING KILLED HER!"

That's when it hit her. The love session she had been experiencing prior to this..._it was only a hallucination_. Sure, it had actually happened months ago, but it hadn't happened right then and there. Mrs. Meyes, Mr. Bronsky, Cameron, the three of them were fine, safe in their homes no doubt.

"That was the day you'd left to fetch Spencer," Amy found herself muttering, tears dripping slowly from her eyes.

"What?" everyone asked, looking at her.

"The...hallucination I had. It was of when you went to fetch Spencer," Amy whispered, nodding. "Well, what happened beforehand, at least, and then continuing with what I had been doing afterwards." She bit her lip. "For a moment, I had feeling from my waist down again."

Stan's head fell against her arm. "Oh."

Reid exchanged a look with Dom as Amy's world began to clear up very slowly. "Do I even want to know?"

"No."

"Good."

Stan sighed, then stood slowly and painfully. "Now... I'm going to need a laptop."


	16. Fifteen

**Author's Note:**

**I apologize for the delay in an update. I have been stressed out a lottle lately, so I hope to ease that stress a bit and write.**

**Yes, I said lottle. It means a little, but a lot.**

**And there went almost my entire chapter! Again! For some reason, FanFiction logged me out while I was writing the chapter, so I went to hit save and it tells me that I must be logged in to use the Doc Manager feature of FanFiction. I _WAS_ LOGGED IN GENIUSES! GRRRRRR!**

**But that's okay. It wasn't very good, and I realize now that I had jumped too far ahead. I still have to do this chapter first before I can do that one.**

**Also, I realize this now: I have only gotten one review on this entire story, and that was on the very early chapters, like chapters one or two (Prologue or One). Does that mean no one likes it? If no one likes it I'll stop writing it, and possibly take it down from the site. But you have to tell me if you do like it or not. I need to know how the few readers I do have are enjoying my story or if they aren't.**

**Oh! I also realize now, as I reread some of my past chapters, my dates are off. It is not the 20th, but the 19th. My bad! I will fix that shortly.**

* * *

**Monday, November 19th, 2012  
Potomac Valley Hospital, Keyser, WV**

Hotch stood outside the hospital, pacing back and forth. Morgan had stayed with the police cruisers on the chase to catch Stan, while the rest of the team had come back, knowing they'd lost him. Now, Hotch waited with Prentiss, JJ, and Rossi outside for news on Garcia, as Stan had shot her in the leg to prevent her from assisting Reid and Domonick. When Morgan returned - deflated and rather agitated - he joined them.

However, news of a different kind reached them first.

It started with Rossi's phone ringing. "Rossi. Yes. You do? Great. We'll be there shortly." He hung up and looked at the team assembled around him. "We have a lead."

"We do?" JJ and Prentiss asked.

Rossi nodded. "An older man came in saying he has information that could help us find Stan and Domonick, Spencer, and Amy."

"What information?" Morgan asked.

But Rossi shook his head. "He says he won't tell anyone but us, and he wants to do it directly."

"Who is he?" Prentiss asked.

"He says his name is George Jameson Grey."

Morgan nodded. "I'll stay here and wait for Garcia, but call me if we get enough information to go after him. I want to be there."

Hotch nodded. "Alright, let's go."

* * *

The older gentleman, George, sat in the chair Rob Carter had occupied not but a few hours before. Rob himself was waiting out in the hall as Hotch and JJ talked with the man. The man had greying blonde hair and a wrinkled smile, but his skin was still tight over his rather large muscles for a man his age (which had to be in his seventies). What also surprised the two was his height: he was at least 6'8". However his grey eyes sparkled slightly in the flourescent lighting that also glinted off his silver-rimmed glasses.

"I knew you had to know this immediately," he said in a Southern accent, sounding rather winded. "I came as quickly as I could, but the woods is an awfully long run for a man my age."

"Woods?" JJ asked, glancing at Hotch.

George nodded vigorously. "Indeed! The woods! I recognized the young girl from the news, and also recognized the man - Stan Fields, I believe his name was - very quickly and knew I had to tell you what I saw."

"Well tell us quickly now. Every second counts," Hotch said.

George nodded. "Indeed it does. Well, I was hiking along my normal path - it's a very calm hike and a man like me needs his fresh air - when I heard a car motor. Now that's a strange sound when you're alone in the woods with no roads for miles and only birds for company. Anyways, I followed the sound and as soon as I reached the clearing I would normally stop to rest in, the motor stopped. I saw the black car, and thought, 'Now George, who would drive a fancy black car way out into the woods like that?' And it turns out that man Stan Fields gets out of the car and drags the poor girl out of it. Poor girl- here she is screaming and yelling at him to let her go, and he doesn't listen. That man... Oh, when I say he did her good I mean he did her real good! Oh, I will never get the sight from my mind. All that blood and all her screams..." George clutched his head as if he had a headache.

"What do you mean, 'did her good'? What did Stan do to her?" JJ asked.

George shivered. "Oh, he beat her! He beat her within an inch of her life! Choked her twice too! Nearly killed her. Then... My goodness, then he raped her! It was horrible to watch, but I knew I needed to tell you everything I saw because as soon as he was done raping her he dragged her back into the car and drove off. I came running here as swift as I could so I could tell you what I saw."

Hotch and JJ looked at each other. "Did you get a good look at the licence plate?" JJ asked hopefully.

But George shook his head, rubbing his temples. "No, my memory's not what it used to be. I couldn't tell you what that tiny sheet of metal said for the life of me! And it very well could mean life or death with that killer on the loose! Oh please tell me you'll find him and lock him up before I have to lock up my granddaughter! She doesn't need to live in fear like that. Her daddy causes enough problems in the family."

Hotch sighed. "We're doing everything we can. This helps a lot. Thank you, Mr. Grey."

George smiled. "Please, it's George. And you're welcome. I take it I'll be leaving now?"

Hotch nodded. "Thank you once again, George. You did the right thing, coming here."

George winked as he stood and walked to the door. "I know, sir. I know I did."

* * *

Rob knew something was wrong with the picture in front of him when that man walked out of the interrogation room, looking all timid and aged. As soon as the door closed the man straightened up and laughed outright.

"Oh boy did they fall for that heap of lies!" he said, the familiar voice of one infamous man of Rob's childhood escaping the 72-year-old's mouth. No more was the faux Southern accent; instead it was replaced by a New England one.

"Jackson," Rob growled, looking up from the chair he sat in.

The man's grey eyes instantly bore into Rob's grey-green ones as he removed the faux silver-rimmed glasses and dropped them to the ground, crushing them under his hiking boot. "Well, if it isn't the big brat Robert Carter. You know, I had quite the pleasure destroying your brother, the little brat."

Rob was on his feet in an instant. "You didn't-"

Jackson smiled. "Didn't what? Kill him? Of course not, Robert! I just taught him a lesson. But that Amy Nickhoales nearly died in the process."

Rob's eyes widened as he began to shake with anger. "How dare you lay a hand on her!"

Instantly Rob launched himself at Jackson, prepared to fight to the deaths if he had to. However Jackson was still much stronger, as usual, and had Rob pinned against the wall real quick.

"Ah, are you feeling things for her too? Hmm, little brat?" Jackson taunted as Rossi and Hotch exited the rooms.

"George? Rob? What's going on here?!" Hotch asked as Rob punched Jackson in the gut and pushed him away from him, only to find himself restrained by Hotch and Prentiss, who quickly exited the other room as JJ did.

"That man's a liar! He's a murderer!" Rob shouted in anger, glaring at Jackson with a look that should have set the building ablaze.

But Jackson laughed, the laugh of Rob's darkest memories of the abuse he and Stan had suffered. "Now what makes you say that, Robert? Hmm? You know who's the murderer, and it isn't me. It's your pitiful excuse of a brother, Stanley Carter."

"I'm not talking about those murders! Stan would never kill Lucile no matter what he promised our father! He would never!" Rob shouted, struggling against Hotch and Prentiss' hold. For once he was grateful for being restrained; it meant he wouldn't kill Jackson.

"And so you think I did?!" Jackson shouted, faking shock.

"YOU HAD TO HAVE! You worshipped my father! You were like a dog at his feet, bowing to his every command and order. You agreed to anything he said. When Stan refused to kill his own family YOU DID!" Rob shouted, his anger boiling over.

Jackson laughed again. "But Rob, Stan had to honor thy father! He would never go against God's will!"

"IT WASN'T GOD'S WILL FOR HIM TO COMMIT MURDER LIKE THAT! STAN WOULD NEVER KILL HIS BELOVED WIFE AND FRIENDS AND FAMILY! HE KNOWS THOU SHALT NOT KILL!"

Jackson's face instantly was a cold stone. "Rob, I am disappointed in you. You have turned out exactly as your father said you would. Exactly as he said your brother would, too. A worthless... Well, you get the idea. And you know what?" Jackson stepped closer to Rob's face.

"Who was with you?" Rob growled.

"I was alone; ask the agents behind you."

"WHO WAS WITH YOU?! YOU ARE NEVER ALONE!"

Jackson smiled. "You're right; I never am. It's always best to be in numbers, regardless of where you are and what you are doing. I'm sure your brother learned that the hard way a long time ago."

"Who was with you?!" Rob growled again.

"You know very well who was with me; they are always with me."

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?! WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY BROTHER?! YOU BASTARD!"

Jackson laughed. "I don't think it's what I did to your asshole weakling of a brother that you should be worrying about! I think it's what I did to your asshole weakling of a brother's pet that should concern you." He leaned in closer to Rob's face. "And I was so ready to squeeze the life out of her little body had it not been for her asking for it. But she paid the price of that mistake. I don't think she'll be walking any time soon. Not without much difficulty."

Rob instantly felt his entire body fall limp in the agents' arms. "She can't walk at all. She's paralyzed."

"And how do you know that?"

"Because... Stan's watched so much of her it's hard not to notice her wheelchair."

Jackson frowned. "Well. It's a good thing that's not the only place we damaged, now is it?"

Rob's head instantly snapped up to face him. "What?"

Jackson smiled. "What am I saying? You will find out soon enough. I'm sure Stan will come crawling- literally, that's what he's been reduced to. I don't think I've seen him that broken and weak in a very long time."

Rob's face hardened in an icy stone glare. "You will pay for this."

Jackson smiled smugly. "Oh really?"

Instantly the sound of handcuffs snapping caught Jackson's attention. He turned to look at JJ, who stood behind him, her face impassive as she snapped one of the handcuff loops on his left wrist.

His eyes widened in shock. "You would really arrest a fragile old man like me?" he said, with a fragile Southern accent.

JJ bit her lip in an obvious attempt to suppress laughter. "Like I'm going to believe that charade after the show you just put on...Jackson?"

Jackson sighed, and allowed JJ to handcuff him and lead him back into the interrogation room.

Hotch and Prentiss released their hold on Rob, who instinctively jumped forward, searching for a young, injured Stan to protect. However, he closed his eyes and shook his head, collapsing to his knees on the floor, his head in his hands.

"Why?" he whispered mournfully.

Hotch and Prentiss exchanged sad glances as Rob fell to pieces at their feet, knowing they could have a lot more on their hands than they originally thought.

And just as they came to that sad realization, their PDAs _dinged!_ with an email from a very familiar individual.


	17. Sixteen

**Monday, November 19th, 2012 5:12 PM  
Potomac Valley Hospital, Keyser, WV**

Morgan was returning to Garcia's room after leaving for a half hour as she took a nap, a cup of coffee cradled in his hand. He was about to sit down in the chair in front of Garcia's room when she called for him. He had to hold back a smirk as he entered the room and sat backwards in the chair next to the hospital bed.

"How are you feeling?" Morgan asked.

Garcia laughed quietly. "I think I understand what Reid was saying when he was shot."

Morgan chuckled. "Only hurts when you think about it?"

"Which is all the time."

Morgan and Garcia shared a laugh.

"You know what would make me feel better, though?" Garcia asked.

"What?"

"My laptop. It should be in my bag on the table over there."

Morgan smiled and got up, leaving his coffee in Garcia's hands. He brought over her laptop, trading it for his coffee, then sat back in the chair.

Garcia eagerly opened her laptop, typing in her password quickly. As she clicked on something, typed something else, then clicked on something else, her eyes narrowed, eyebrows angling down.

Morgan cocked his head to the left slightly, eyes narrowing as well. "What is it?"

Garcia waved him closer, and he moved to see the screen. "Look at this email."

Morgan carefully read the email, his fury building the more he stared at it.

_Agents-_

_This is unexpected, at least to me. Amy is in need of help. As am I. I'm sure Jackson came and spread a huge lie, claiming that I'm the one that put her in such dire need of medical attention, and I guess it really is partially my fault. However, if you really wish to help her, you're going to have to work for it._

_Below is my Skype. Contact me as soon as possible. I do hate to be kept waiting, but I do suggest all of you visit your friend Garcia. I believe you all have something to say. Not that I blame you._

_Amy needs you. We all need you._

_Stan_

Garcia turned to Morgan. "Do you think he's telling the truth?"

Morgan sighed, but before he could respond, the rest of the team (minus Reid of course) filed into the room.

"Did you get the email?" Hotch asked.

"Stan's?" Morgan asked.

Hotch nodded.

"Yes. Just read it."

"How do we know he's being honest?" Garcia asked again.

"Because the Jackson in the email did in fact lie to us. But thankfully Rob Carter was still there. He got the truth out of him," Rossi explained.

Garcia sighed. "Should we really Skype him?"

"We have to. If the rest of the story is true, including the rape and beatings, then Amy is indeed in serious need of medical attention. Stan's injuries may be a ploy to get sympathy," Hotch said.

Morgan sighed. "Alright, baby girl, do your thing."

Garcia sighed, but reluctantly opened Skype and placed the call. The rest of the team gathered around her quickly.

When Stan answered, it took all of Morgan's strength not to punch the screen. JJ gasped, as Stan was indeed battered and bruised. There was a cut stitched up on his forehead, his lip was split and swollen, and he kept rubbing his left shoulder. The room behind him was dark. Somewhere behind him came the sound of someone pacing.

"Why the hell would they even bother, Stan?" came a familiar voice.

"Excuse me, but am I a profiler?" Stan asked, the voice.

"No, but why would they bother?"

"HOW THE HELL WOULD I KNOW?!" Stan exclaimed. "By George! You're worse than Amy at the age of five!"

"Reid!" Garcia cried.

The pacing stopped. "They made the call?"

Stan closed his eyes. "Yes, they made the call."

Reid suddenly appeared next to Stan. "Hey."

"Reid, are you okay?" Hotch asked.

He half smiled. "Yeah, I'm fine. Amy isn't, though."

"So we've heard," Rossi said.

Stan sighed. "Maybe I'll let you do the talking. At least they trust you."

"Stan, they have every reason _not _to trust you."

"Exactly my point."

Reid sighed. "Well, how's it going?"

"Where's Amy?" Hotch asked.

Reid pouted. "Gee, don't I feel loved. Stan, why don't _you_ get her?"

Stan looked at Reid, his expression almost one of horror. "There is no way I am touching her, let alone getting up. She's been hurt too much. That, and I don't think standing up again will be a good idea."

Reid sighed. "And I don't think Dom will want to carry her over here." He disappeared from the camera view.

Stan looked at the laptop keys in what appeared to be exhaustion. As if to prove that, he yawned, wincing in pain, his right hand pressing against his lip. As soon as he saw the blood, he whispered angrily, "Shit." He shook his head.

Morgan didn't know what to make of Stan's actions. Was he acting, or was this really the way he was feeling? After a quick survey of the faces of his friends, he realized no one knew what to make of Stan's display...or true feelings. If it was the truth, this was the weakest they'd ever seen him.

A few minutes of silence elapsed until the sound of careful footsteps approached. Stan looked to his right, and almost instantly turned to his left, wincing in pain. Amy had entered the room.

Reid appeared quickly, gesturing to the chair next to Stan. It looked like he had darkness in his arms. "Dom, sit."

Domonick soon limped over and collapsed into the chair waving to the team. "Hey." He turned to Reid and held out his arms. The darkness was transferred from Reid to Domonick, and as Reid raced to the right to turn on the light, the darkness grew lighter and transformed into a recognizable being. As soon as the light turned on, the being cried out weakly, shielding its eyes. Reid pulled a chair over and sat between Stan and Domonick.

The being in Domonick's arms had wavy brown hair and bruised pale skin. Its metallic brown and teal glasses were broken, its face cut and bruised. Several cuts were stitched up, sure, but there were still many more. Its lips were stained with blood, as was the back of its head, dried blood in its hair. Its throat was bruised, the bruises in the shape of fingers and hands. The rest of the being was hidden from sight, but it was clear based on the expression that this being was in severe pain. The usual turtleneck was gone, no doubt removed for wound examination.

The being slowly moved its hand from its face, and squinted at the screen. It looked eyes with Hotch first, then Rossi, then JJ, then Prentiss, then Garcia, then finally Morgan. Morgan could see every ounce of pain it felt just by looking into her eyes. It continued to lock eyes with him until finally it went back to looking at Hotch. Out of curiosity, Morgan turned to look at Hotch's face and was surprised by what he saw. Much like Garcia and JJ, he was visibly distraught by the being's appearance. However, unlike the girls' more audible distress and mascara-dripping tears (in Garcia's case), the older agent confined his sadness to the uncontrollable tears streaming slowly from his eyes.

Morgan forced himself to look back at the screen and away from Hotch, however both sights were painful. Hotch brought depressing pain, but the being brought angering pain.

The being finally spoke, its voice hoarse and female, familiar yet not. "So...here we...are...again... Stuck...miles apart...yet closer...than we think."

Stan sighed. "At least this time I had the sense to stay in the same state."

"Jackson and Rob send their regards," Hotch suddenly said.

The being's eyes widened before it recoiled into Domonick's arms, whimpering. Its right wrist raised and fell, a bloodstained Ace bandage shaped rather oddly around it.

"Amy?" Morgan whispered.

She turned back to look at him. "Morgan."

"What happened?" he asked, hoping his voice was as gentle as he meant it to be.

She looked away. "We...we were attacked."

"By?"

She sighed. "By five...men. All...older...and taller...than Stan."

"No offense, but that does say something," Domonick added. "Although the ringleader, Jackson, had to have been the tallest and most muscular."

Stan sighed. "Never liked when he came to visit. Nothing's changed after twenty years."

Morgan nodded. "And...what happened?"

Amy remained silent.

Stan took this opportunity to clear his throat. Morgan instantly glared at him.

"I understand how much you want to know what happened, as well as catch up. Do me a favor and do all that in person."

"What are you saying, Stan?" Rossi asked.

"I'm going to email you an address. When you arrive at that address, the instructions as to how to get to us will be obvious. Do hurry."

Morgan narrowed his eyes. "How can we trust you?"

"I'll email it, then," Reid suggested.

Stan nodded. "As soon as you get his email, hurry over. I fear Amy cannot wait any longer."

"I can...wait as...long...as...necessary."

Domonick bit his lip. "Amy, you have broken ribs, a broken wrist, a serious head injury as well as already having a concussion, and have severe bruising to your throat. I think you need medical attention quickly."

Reid nodded. "Hurry, but with caution."

Stan sighed. "I'm going to end the call, get him to writing the email, then you have to get over here fast."

Hotch nodded. "Get to it."

Stan leaned forward, and soon the call ended.

A minute or two of silence passed before Garcia's inbox showed a new email.

"I'll forward it to your PDAs. Get going! Good luck! Bring them back alive!" Garcia cried as the team raced from the room.

Morgan quickly pulled out his PDA as soon as the email was sent. He knew the place. It was an abandoned industrial unit. A classic place to hide.

"Stan does aim for the theatrics," Rossi said before getting into his SUV.

"The SWAT team will meet us there!" JJ announced before ducking into the SUV with Hotch driving.

Prentiss and Morgan instantly jumped into the last one, and soon Morgan was rushing after the other two.

The race to rescue was on.


	18. Seventeen

Stan was pacing painfully as he talked mostly to himself. "This now makes my charges...1,190 counts of murder, many of which I'm not sure I even commit, what will be...let's see: Prentiss, Jareau, Morgan, Rossi, Hotchner, Reid times three, so yes. 1,190 counts of murder, twelve counts of attempted murder, nine counts of abduction, theft, assault...what else?"

"Twenty-six counts...of...sexual assault...not including...the number...of times you...stripped me...naked and...kissed my entire...body nor the... number of times...you simply...kissed me," Amy added. "And...your murder...number's...wrong: you would have...1,191 counts...of murder."

Stan looked at her in confusion. "Your brother is sitting right next to you, alive."

Amy shook her head. "That's...not...what I mean. You didn't...include...Samantha."

Stan collapsed to his knees. "That was more of assisted suicide than murder. After all, it was she who killed herself."

Amy narrowed her eyes. "What...do you...mean?"

Stan sighed. "We truly loved each other. She didn't mind that I was her father; she knew what had to be done and was very upset when we learned she couldn't even have kids due to her ovarian cysts. Then, when she was twelve, I saw you, Amy. Granted, I was forty two and you only three, but I know beauty and potential when I see it, and you were and are very beautiful and extremely full of potential. When Samantha and I finally went home and I started making dinner, she addressed our encounter. She said she knew I had fallen in love with you; she could see it in my eyes and she heard it in my compliment. She said she didn't blame me for falling for someone who had more potential for providing a successful heir to the Carter name, but I told her I was perfectly happy having her with me; she was all I really needed. And then...she asked me to let her help me prepare dinner. Thinking she really wanted to help, I handed her the knife I was using to chop the various vegetables before turning to the stove to observe the pots and the stir fry in the pan. Moments later, I hear her muted scream and turn around. She...my baby...she..." Stan started crying. "She tortured herself then finally slit her throat after saying, 'I'll always love you, Daddy.' I just watched her. I couldn't move. I couldn't make a sound. I simply froze there like an idiot and watched her die."

The room was silent, save for Stan's sobs and tears. Amy's own eyes started tearing up. This was one of the saddest things she'd ever seen. Stan never cried. He never displayed weakness. He never talked freely about himself or of his life. But now...he did. He was truly a fragile being in some respects. And right then and there, most of his actions made sense. His love of children (not going as far as pedophilia), his instability, his unvoiced fear of knives, his delicate handling of Amy... Stan was fragile. His aggression and nefariousness was simply a mask. A show. One that distracted everyone from the real him.

Stan finally stopped crying and sighed. He pulled out the prescription and looked through the transparent orange plastic and sighed again. "Two pills and no more for when I actually need them, or do I give in and have a sip?" He held up his hand and watched it tremble. He sighed, putting away the prescription. "I'm giving in."

He then removed a small metal flask, removing the cap and tossing his head back quickly. He let the beverage - no doubt a form of alcohol - sit on his tongue a minute before swallowing, putting the flask back inside his suit jacket. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall, his tongue rubbing the inside of his mouth to get the rest of the alcohol from his mouth down his throat with his many swallows.

He sighed and opened his eyes, taking the flask back out and downing another sip before putting the flask back and declaring, "No more, no more today. I have to save it, because there's no getting more, and I cannot go through withdrawals again."

Reid sighed. "I know how you feel in that respect. I've been sober for a while now-"

Stan's look cut him off. "Don't. Please. I don't need your pitifully lame attempts at either mockery or mock-sympathy. So don't try. Please. You'll make my head hurt worse."

Amy sighed. "What...did you drink?"

Stan smiled at the memory of the beverage. "A real nice cognac; my favorite brand. Expensive, but simply divine."

Amy nodded slowly, looking over at Domonick and Reid. The two were tied together again, just like they had when the three were first abducted. However, their bondage had grown in more ways than one.

Something everyone should have paid attention to was merely overlooked: Domonick was having a coughing fit.

* * *

The SUVs finally skidded to a stop in front of the building, and the BAU team raced out and over to the building as the SWAT vans also appeared stopped.

As soon as everyone was inside, the team simultaneously pulled out their firearms as a piece of paper with a bold message on the wall in front of them greeted them:

**WELCOME. THIRD FLOOR. MAKE IT QUICK. I HATE TO BE KEPT WAITING.**

Morgan instantly said, "It could be a trap."

Instantly Hotch's phone went off. He didn't recognize the number, but answered anyway. "Hotchner."

"Do tell Agent Morgan I would never lie. Not about something as drastic as the lives of three highly-valued individuals as well as mine and all of yours," said the familiar British voice.

"Tell him yourself," Hotch said, putting the phone on speaker so all could hear.

Morgan instantly was fuming. "Listen you, if you dared hurt any of them, I swear-"

There was laughter from the other end. "Oh, Agent Morgan. Your rage is priceless, and will do you no good."

Morgan was shaking and breathing heavily in rage. "You fucking bastard!"

"Morgan, that is enough!" Hotch ordered, and his fellow agent and friend glared at him.

"Hotch, he's a murderer and a rapist. He needs to die!"

"Then find your way up here and get to it!" Stan roared. "Third floor. Oh, and good luck getting to us." With that, the call terminated.

Hotch put his phone away quickly. "Now we have a furious unsub. Fantastic."

Morgan sighed angrily. "Third floor?"

"There's only one way to find out," Rossi said, and so the team made their way up to the third floor, taking the stairs. The SWAT scattered throughout the building, some following the team but stopping at the first and second floors to inspect them just in case.

As soon as the team was at the third floor, they knew they were in trouble.

"No wonder he wished us luck," Prentiss said, staring at the maze.

"Split up?" JJ asked, and Hotch nodded, about to race into the maze when suddenly there was a scream.

"PLEASE! MAKE IT STOP! PLEASE, I'M BEGGING YOU MAKE IT STOP! PLEASE STOP!" Amy cried and screamed in pain again.

Morgan cried, "AMY!"

The team exchanged worried glances as the child went through a PTSD episode no doubt on the other side of the building.

"AMY, SHUT UP ALREADY! HOW MANY TIMES MUST I TELL YOU?!" Stan was shouting back at her.

There was another scream then a whimper, then the team heard Reid shout, "Hey, stop it! Don't do that to her!"

"You leave me no choice, Amy!" Stan shouted. "And you need to shut the hell up as well!"

The team exchanged worried glances once again as Morgan cried again, "AMY! WE'RE COMING FOR YOU, GIRL!"

With that, the team nodded at each other simultaneously and ran into the maze, each agent taking a different path in hopes of reaching their friends and Stan quickly.

Hotch quickly made his way through the maze, hardly ever coming across a dead end, carefully aiming his gun as he went. Finally, after fifteen minutes (it was a rather large maze), he managed to make his way out to the external ring of…what used to be offices. He carefully checked each office as he went, searching for any sign of life in them. And then he saw them.

The first thing Hotch noticed was that Amy, looking worse in person than in the video, was bound and gagged on a desk that had been transformed into a bed, bound and gagged no doubt due to her PTSD episode as the team first arrived on the floor. The second thing he noticed was that Domonick and Reid were on the floor, bound together, both men gagged. The third thing Hotch noticed was Domonick's head had fallen forward, meaning he was unconscious. The last thing he noticed was the fearful look in Amy's eyes and Reid's shaking of his head.

Then he was attacked.

A sharp pain erupted in his upper back. Hotch nearly lost his grip on his gun as he fell to the floor. There was a single shot fired, and pieces of cement from the ceiling fell, but nothing else before Hotch rolled over onto his back and aimed his gun at Stan from the floor. Stan laughed, aiming his own pistol at Hotch. From this view, the Brit looked threatening and sadistic, as he towered over Hotch though definitely injured. His forehead had been stitched up – just as Rob Carter had said – and there were a few bruises and cuts on his face and arms, but no other wounds could be seen on the 53-year-old murderer, rapist, thief, and kidnapper. In his right hand was an M9 9mm semiautomatic pistol; in his left…a homemade detonator that had the looks of a high-tech mousetrap. Hotch quickly glanced over at Reid and Domonick, and saw the two men wore elaborate bomb vests. Stan had obviously been very busy and _very_ careful.

"We are at a draw, Agent Hotchner," Stan said in a hauntingly sinister voice, smiling as if all of his plans were falling into place. "However, I still hold the advantage. You shoot, I drop this here detonator, the whole place goes up and everyone dies. You let me shoot you, I detonate the place, everyone dies, but you die first. Take your pick."

Hotch sighed, closing his eyes, but he did not lower his gun. This could really be the end.


End file.
